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peacockeryabound · 1 year

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Dance of Deviants - Part 3

(From the story of the same name on my AO3.)

Synopsis: The dance goes on, and only a select few maniacs can pursue it.

(Pairing: Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan)

Something flaky touches his nose and tips with every breath until it tickles his nostril enough for a sneeze to come. His type had always been loud - almost a bark - and the power of his heave was enough to jump his body on the cot like a beached fish.

In the dead of night, there was hardly any light to blink through. Arthur's eyes were watering from the stimulation and the near blackness gave little to work with, so he had to rely on blind faith of his fingers in rubbing his face. Whatever had been agitating him had fallen off before he could pluck it, either onto his shoulder or his cot, leaving him to grumble and paw at himself in no particular urgency while he laid back down.

A couple of minutes later, just as sleep was ready to steal him again, he felt another scratchy flake tickling down his face. This time it caught on the corner of his mouth, stuck by skin oil and poking into his lip from an agitated twitch. He cussed at himself from the power behind his own slap to it, leaving himself stinging and more awake than ever.

Was it the tent flaps? He swore he secured them…

As Arthur scrunched his eyes shut, hissed from a pop in his shoulder and pushed himself onto an elbow, swatting at nothing under the impression of night bugs coming in…he stiffened as he heard it. A fleeting scrape, exactly the sharp sound of metal shaving through wood fiber. Something fell onto the slim patch of chest hair poking out his half-done union suit- another itchy thing that was so small it shouldn't have bothered him but shivered every muscle in the spot.

The scrape sounded off again. A shaky rasp hissed through the air, terrifying him in the moment as he didn't know if it was his own..his eyes shot open and he stared into the darkness, finally recognizing the shape of something looming over his bedside.

"What the hell?!"

It took every last nerve of his restraint to not just shoot Micah.

After a week of absence, he had half a mind to lash out and beat the bastard out of the other man for causing him so much worry, worry that he couldn't even put perspective to. Micah was just that chaotic of a force that stood beyond reason.

It became uncomfortably apparent from how many shavings he now felt scattered along himself that Micah had been standing there for quite some time, whittling away at a small block of wood he was holding in outstretched arms. Arthur expected him to be grinning like the asshole that he always was, delighted to dig under another man's skin…but he wasn't.

Now that his eyes had adjusted to the dark space, Arthur could only catch the heavy frown set above a mustache now trimmed, shorter and noticeably twitchy. Micah's eyes were obscured by the brim of his hat, even at the angle Arthur was straining from.

"...you gonna talk, dumbass?" He growled. He brushed off the mess while he waited.

"Yeah." Micah's soft voice felt all the more unnerving in the dark. "Was just returning the favor."

Arthur blinked.

"...what?"

Micah blew wood dust at him and he winced from the sting burning at his eyes. He pushed himself up and ground the heel of his palm into his sockets while a fresh chip flicked him right on the chin and tumbled down his pec. He was getting ready to sass back when Micah was suddenly hissing over him, the most riled Arthur's ever heard him.

"Oh, piss off with your slow draw act, Morgan. It's gotten old. Just shut up, I am trying to be a good little boy and capture my Juliet in the moment."

He rewarded the ruined mood by carelessly dropping the statuette onto Arthur and punctuated his disappointment by ramming the tip of his blade right next to the journal on the bedside table.

"You really inspired me, cowpoke." Micah leaned a bit, tipping his hat to finally look at Arthur, though his stare was anything but composed. "I gave you something real special back there. Ain't it kind to share all that artsy crap?"

He had started to absently stroke along the book once he had grown tired of fingering the handle of his blade.

Arthur blinked at him before his eyes shot to the book. His breath was hitching and he balked into a glare as he stared back at the other man.

"Did you go through my journal ?"

A hot bolt of terror pierced him right in the gut, throwing the rest of him into a nauseating spin. There were some very personal entries in that book, not just about Micah but of the tender secrets and opinions of other folks that Micah of all fucking people had no god damn business knowing about. It was one of those scathing moments of insight that made him regret ever helping a man who culled half a town over a hissy fit about his guns.

Whatever was in his tone must have shook the bastard, for Micah lost his bite and dumbly stared at him for a moment. Even in the dark, those baby blue eyes looked sad as they always did, even through the pout he took to look at the book, lost in thought.

Micah then grinned.

"What if I did?" He cooed, pulling up the leather cover before dropping it. His middle finger stroked the string binding in a lazy circle. "Don't I have the right to see how you drew me, pervert?"

He winced from the backhand brought to his hip, himself retaliating with a smack to the same hand as it readied another punch.

"Gettin' touchy, ain't we?" He snickered. He made a show of shaking his hands as he raised him. "Ain't my fault you were the one staring at my ass like an invert-"

He took Arthur's pillow to the face.

"Shut the hell up! You want the whole camp to hear?"

By the time Micah yanked it off, he could see the bigger man already pulling himself up. It didn't stop him from giggling, higher in pitch than he wanted but finding himself not caring in the moment.

"Oh-ho, so you do like me! That's…that's cute, Morgan." He hushed down, breathy and oddly giddy, as he tested the moment to brush a stray shaving off the other man's chest. "...h-had to step away from you for a bit, Juliet . Get my head straight."

He made sure Arthur understood the slow sweep he made across his shoulder, down to the elbow and back up in a slow rub. The bravado was flimsy, himself snorting on his own breath in an attempt to remain composed. He waited for a response, face twisting into a sneer out of nowhere before he puffed himself up and gave a theatrical sigh that impressed neither of them.

"Sappy little Arthur Morgan, defending my honor. I remembered. I remembered catching you, rubbing me all tender like…Big, strong, noble idiot…" he finger walked along the button line of the union suit, licking dry lips, "I never thought you the boy-kissin' type- ey-ey-ey!"

They both froze, eyes only on each other the moment Micah clapped his hands on Arthur's chest in a panic. His breath stuttered and his fingers tapped on their own accord. Arthur's pectorals tightened inside the scratchy cotton, flesh thumping under a dampening palm.

"What's…really happenin' here, Micah?" Arthur's voice was far softer than it had any right to be. He kept his hands readied by Micah's shoulders, posed like hawk talons with the intent to strangle him. He watched Micah swallow before giving a shrug that was far too small for his ego. His nostrils were blown wide to give away the shallow breaths he was struggling to hide.

Arthur took a step despite there being almost no distance between them, beginning to smirk through the shift of power.

Big bad Micah Bell…already buckling now that he lost his edge. Standing there, paralyzed by the heat and muscle beneath his hands, fingers fanned out across another man's chest with the reverence of a working girl studying her first dip into male flesh…he could laugh at the absurdity of it all.

He didn't.

Arthur instead felt his heart stuttering from the sight of Micah appearing to be swallowing excess spit, knowing the other blonde was going to feel it too, that traitorous drum beat.

Their tense stare almost melted the world around it. Everything felt muddy and sweltering.

As awkwardly as the push came, it relented without much grace. Hands back up, fingers curling into shaky little paws, Micah kept swallowing and failing to hold back the need to pant. Even in the dark, Arthur can see the wide eyed stare that had little reason to look so shiny.

Micah sucked in a deep breath and nodded to nothing in particular. It was jagged and brisk, followed by a glance that darted and the tiniest "uh" that whimpered out of him. The exhale was sharp.

"I always believed…in an eye for an eye, cowpoke." Micah's voice turned stiff. He nodded again, putting on his sloppiest attempt yet at a confident smile. "A-as I said…I'm just returning the favor."

Just as Arthur was about to open his mouth, Micah grabbed the journal and bolted out of the tent.

“- HEY!”

Arthur nearly ate the dirt in his frantic stumble out, buttoning his trousers with one hand while clutching his boots with the other. He caught Micah hopping up onto Baylock who had been waiting far too close to be coincidence, just as he saw the shitty little grin that caught the scout fire's light before the nuisance kicked his spurs to drive the stallion out of camp. Arthur cussed under every rock and trash fragment poking into his bare feet during his awkward attempt at stealth towards the horses, mouth so dry that his whistle came out more as a spitty breath. Even his mare had to take three attempts before raising her ears up at the hitching post.

He never realized how awkward it was to try and tug on shoes while balancing on a horse. His mare protested but kept eyes on the target, dutifully kicking her legs to their limits in an obedient attempt to close the distance as she chased through thickets and up inclines, faster and further away from the frogs and crickets of the damp Lemoyne fields and back up into the dry New Hanover prairies.

“You goddamn animal!” Arthur barked, already drawing out his revolver. It was a bluffing move, but the sentiment was far too real.

He growled at his own barking style of laughter, tossed right back at him.

“Well, that ain’t nice , Arthur!”

Micah drove his horse into a herd of passing bison. Arthur’s mare staggered when one on the tail end drew too close, neighing in protest while taking a sharp right to follow the right flank. Arthur grimaced as he winced under the crack of a revolver shot, watching a big bull crashing into the ground after getting close to ramming at the other outlaw. The rest of the herd scattered into a violent panic, forcing him to tug on his reins hard enough to get his Arabian to strafe and make a wide turn around the building perimeter.

“Are you out of your goddamn mind?! The hell’s the matter with you?”

Oh, Charles was going to be one more name to the list against Micah now…

He growled at the casual look back. Micah gave an exaggerated shrug to be read clear in the distance building between them, twisting himself in his saddle to show off the act of opening the journal in a mocking air to peruse it.

“-Oh! What a cute little wolf. That’s just darling-”

He nearly dropped it from the warning shot that kicked his hat right off his head, cussing back to Arthur as he pistol whipped Baylock against the ass to get him to kick faster.

The chase was intense, driving them both to leap over small overhangs jutting the hillsides, through patches of uneven dirt and veering to avoid small animals nesting amid the prairie grasses. Micah tore a hard left towards upcoming railroad tracks, right into the light of an upcoming train.

“You want this back so bad, Juliet? You want me, sweetheart? Come and show me some teeth!”

He whooped and charged right across the tracks, just barely clearing the space before the engine cleaved between them. Arthur nearly skid right into the blur of carriages, arms thrown around the neck of his mare to stop himself as she screamed and nearly slipped in her panicked halt. They both watched the endless crawl of the wailing locomotive, of the fleeting shapes of people peering out and the rattling of cargo bouncing above shaky wheels.

As he palmed at his chest to calm himself, he felt a despair overcome him after looking to both sides, finding himself effectively trapped without an opening to bolt through. He slumped against his gentle beast, face buried in crossed arms as a shaky exhale wheezed out of him. This was it, he supposed.

Micah was going to spill all his secrets now like the fucking rat that he was and parade it around camp with his usual shamelessness. He’ll be fattened up with blackmail opportunities, eager to poke at every hole in Arthur’s resolve, taking advantage of him just like he did with every other scrap of generosity tossed his way. Should have eaten that bullet that took his hat…

The sudden rush of wind running off the caboose was enough for him to raise his head, just barely. He pinched at the bridge of his nose and stiffened back up, head hung and humoring himself with pickling his sentiments over Pearson’s secret moonshine stash at the fire…until he glanced up and looked across the track.

Baylock was still there, as was his rider. The death’s head stallion flicked an ear while staring at Arthur with pale eyes, chewing on some dry grass while standing in place as Micah studied a page in the journal with a lost expression. Arthur’s breathing hitched again, something hot and tingling crawling down his spine and right down into his tail bone.

Something was not right, and it wasn’t the standoff between them. Micah’s earlier bluff in the tent didn’t make sense in his current body language, his jaw parted and cupping at his cheek, pushing his lips back into a pout to recreate what he was seeing. He brought his hand back to the page, tracing over the expanse and mumbling the words he was reading. When his eyes flicked back up to Arthur, he frowned and cocked his head, remaining where he was as the other man approached.

He didn’t say anything as he handed the journal back, holding Arthur’s stare with glassy pale eyes.

Two outlaws they were, caught up in each other. It was a standoff for the ages, broken only by Micah nudging his horse to turn away, gaze still lingering on Arthur as he was carried in a slow trot up the dusty path towards the rocky hillside.

He stiffened up, the faintest ghost of a smile escaping him once he saw Arthur beginning to follow him.

The urgency now fleeting, they rode side by side in a silence that didn’t need to be broken now. Baylock seemed to know the way, dutifully following the dug road without any tugs from his rider. The only time he glanced back for direction was to make eyes with the stunning mare beside him. Both horses exchanged a heated lipping once she got close, which earned a surprised snort from Arthur.

When a faint footpath split through the grass on their left, Micah gave a whistle to get Arthur’s attention, just enough to allow him to skip forward and cut him off by crossing over. His stallion slowed to an almost somber walk despite plenty of space and no obstructions, a concerning show in how the chase just died then and there.

Arthur remained at the bottom, watching. He felt like a school boy, book to his chest in a crushing press, palm damp against the back leather and fingers curled so tight he could hear a joint pop. It hurt to hold his breath and yet he struggled to let it go, enraptured by the sight before him.

Thinking was hard- his tired brain was soft like cheese in the moment. All he could understand was the war beat pummeling his chest.

A smart man would know that this all looked like a setup. A smarter man would not be so easily convinced by whatever randy thoughts were spurred by a lick of the lips and a free dip back into bedside memories. A fool followed…so he did.

His delay made him easily lose sight of Micah, who had already crested the hill and wandered out of sight. Arthur swore he had come up this spot earlier in his travels, when a hunt for strange bones had taken him far off the common roads and deep into wild country. He had seen many funny sights, just as he had stumbled across cabins just like the one that rose up to greet him at the summit of his climb, lights on and absolutely alone. He had to pause, looking around for any signs of company.

Arthur may have been exhausted in the moment, rudely reminded of being awoken far too early after already too many long days, but he was not an idiot. Micah would never just lead him past a prime plunder spot and not capitalize on it. The glow of the windows invited him to slip off his mare and withdraw his gun during his approach. This was an absolute waste of his time, being dragged halfway across a county in pursuit of some childish dumbass who had nothing better to do…

A dumbass he had drawn pictures of, defended for honor and had been thinking about far too often. He sighed against the front door and rested both his head and elbow upon it for a moment. Once they were back in camp, he was throwing the dick to Dutch.

Despite still being in just his union suit and trousers, Arthur was thankful that he had wadded up his bandana earlier and shoved it into his pocket after coming off a job with John. The arrangement was sloppy but it decently covered up his shame as he threw his weight against the wood and barged inside, Cattleman ready.

“Alright, come on!” He barked, though he faltered as he realized he was pointing his gun right at Micah’s back. And, by extension, he was looking at his ass again, fuck -

Arthur instead dropped his weapon and pulled down the cloth. He felt more comfortable in looking for where the body was.

It really bothered him to see the cabin looking immaculate, spread out with the usual fixings on the shelves and tables. A few lanterns peppered the space in an intimate glow, capturing a look that was far too tender on a man like Micah once he turned around to stare back. Arthur gawked at the sight of the phonograph that had been the focus of Micah’s fiddling.

A phonograph, on a table that was far too small for it, where no sensible owner would even keep-

…there they were again, those nasty little implications that squirmed in his gut. The only dignified thing he could do was keep his mouth shut and stare, taking in the puppy-eyed look coming from the man he had always known as an unrepentant killer. He realized now why his attention lingered earlier on the odd trim of Mr. Bell’s mustache, as it really had been groomed for the occasion, as was the rest of him.

Perfectly exposed under the lights, Arthur saw Micah wearing clean and properly tucked clothes for once. He had not only combed his hair back but it looked remarkably soft and fluffed, lacking the shine that the usual grease caught in the sunlight. Micah looked uncomfortable in his own fresh-polished boots, fists clenched and head low.

Arthur felt all the more ridiculous now, standing there half dressed and dusty from the chase.

“...What’s all this?” He asked as he holstered his weapon. “Micah. I said wh…”

He hushed himself as music started to play. The tone of the atmosphere shifted, adding only further nuance to the dim lights, the clean space…the goose pimples raising up the back of his neck.

Micah took three steps forward, eyes still on him despite how jumpy they looked. His breath was catching noticeably, defecting back to that little nose wiggle he took to when caught back at the tent. A sharp inhale stiffened them both while he closed his eyes, an exhale parting in a slow breath while he prepared himself for something.

“...You alright, Micah?”

Arthur blinked at the hand offered to him.

"On…this beautiful night," Micah started, biting his lip and blinking his wet eyes, struggling through his breathing. He was so god damn nervous, way out of his element, "will…you dance with me, Arthur? A-Arthur Morgan?"

There was music, a fanciful tune of violins and cellos, yet the world was silent to Arthur in that moment. He was locked into a stunned state, holding his breath until his lungs burned and his eardrums throbbed, the world turning into funny colors as it felt slowed like molasses. It was familiar to a trick he often pulled when lining up his shots, just as he was now watching that outstretched hand as if it were the fleeting moment before a quick draw. Micah couldn't even blink, jaw slowly moving like a puppet and brows pushed together so troubled-like because lord, he was such a sensitive little rabbit…

Arthur accepted Micah’s hand and the world resumed at full speed. His nerves went crashing down as if he were falling, choking his next breath into a knot within his throat. His smile was dumbfounded, trying to settle on shaking his head at the absurdity and nodding because it pained him to see another man look so helpless, especially Micah Bell.

"Sure." He laughed through a wheeze.

His mind was brought back to the tent, fingers laced with Micah’s to comfort him during his nightmare, just like he did now as the poor fool looked ready to retch on himself from no doubt a similar sensation. After this was all said and done, weeks down the road, Arthur will have his fun in teasing. For now, he remembered the secrets entrusted to him as he settled closer to the other outlaw, chest to chest. This night clearly took a lot of effort to pull off, an unheard of act of passion from a man leading his own crusade against everything and everyone.

"I…I ain't gonna laugh." His voice was soft, reassuring while Micah squirmed from the sudden closeness. They both fumbled on where to put their hands, himself rumbling while Micah cussed under his breath as if he were spilling bullets. "Here, put your hand-"

"I know how this works," Micah snapped and clapped his hand on Arthur's ass, "Fuck off".

Arthur had to stare up at the ceiling while he pulled the hand up to the small of his back. Playing the role of the female, he cupped Micah's chest and tried not to laugh in his face once he saw it burn red. He promised.

Micah was never not a lying bastard but Arthur feigned ignorance of the inexperience, closing his eyes and being guided by the sway that he was being pulled into.

Was this better than sleep? Truthfully, he still felt like this all was some absurd dream, but the peace of knowing things were alright and very much real against his flesh had energized him. There may never be another night like this.

He cracked an eye to glance down, catching Micah staring at their feet.

"Never thought you was a slow dancer." He mused.

"I’m just warming up.” Micah grumbled and pulled him forward. They settled into a stumble before taking to a rhythm, sloppy and nearly stepping on toes but it was progress. Arthur began to exaggerate his footsteps so that his pattern was easier to catch and follow.

The temptation was so strong, but he killed a thought before it became words. With how their banter normally went, it was too tempting to ask if this was the dance Micah had been strutting around Mary-Beth to get, which they both knew was not the intended offer. Micah had flirted with and got beat down by every woman in camp by this point and had always walked each attempt off with a chuckle. Now…this was an entirely different animal. He was clinging to Arthur as if afraid to lose him, squeezing their fingers in a white knuckled hold as he overworked himself to just remain composed. His face was soured into a glare, so deep in focus he didn’t even notice the soft eyes fixed on him.

He tripped onto Arthur’s foot when the hand on his chest slipped up to cup the side of his neck.

"T-the hell you doing?!"

"Just admirin' my Romeo. " Arthur grinned at him.

Christ, Micah was so cute in this moment. Arthur wished this was his normal baseline instead of whatever the hell it was when he made a mess in camp. He was jumpy and panicked, so ready to kick in the embrace but something about those expressive pale eyes just did something to Arthur's firm hold on him.

Look at you. Christ…look at you.

Arthur kept him tethered with eye contact while he petted along the soft skin, cresting the jaw to stroke his thumb along it. This pitiful fool was so horrendously touch starved, made obvious from his fingers clawing into Arthur's clothes, his eyelids fluttering. Every small whimper rolled up shivers that almost encouraged him to snuggle against Arthur’s chest.

The very notion that another dirty outlaw felt compelled to bathe, just for him, was honestly one of the most touching discoveries, to say the least of where they stood now. It deserved some reward.

He hooked his free arm around the small of Micah’s back, using it to help catch him once he spooked during the lean in to press their cheeks together in a tender nuzzle.

"You ever dance with another man?" He had to ask, lest he poke the hornet nest too blindly. His breath was no doubt tickling Micah’s ear, if the shivering felt against him was any hint.

Micah looked ready to curl in on himself, head down and face tight into a pained look. He didn’t say anything for the longest time, instead settling back into a leading sway that felt more like a dying man’s shamble, hugging so tight it felt almost like a desperation to get into another skin that wasn’t his own.

Arthur remembered that same stripped down feeling when he had kissed his first man years back, when he had been nursing liquor to burn the pains of his family, the same way Hosea had taken to self medicating after losing his wife. Arthur had tossed around tantrums of disgust too, feeling it degenerate and desperate to nestle against another beard but…after the loathsome tingling had died when the kisses continued, he had realized then and there, halfway into some stranger’s lap in a back room of the bar out in Van Horn that it wasn't too much different than necking a girl. More hairy, less supple but…it really hadn't been a big song and dance in the grand scheme of things. Body heat and tender touches were universal in how they nourished the spirit.

He could say in his current place that he better understood the plights of folk like Bill and now Micah, trapped under the demands of polite society.

"...that pomp show you did with Mary-Beth…it wasn't because you fancied her, huh." He mumbled. By this point they had stopped moving altogether, instead clinging in an awkward hug as the music carried on without remorse. He took to petting his fingers through the softened pale hair, lulled by the distinct scent of sweet soap tickling his nose. "I saw you lookin' at me right before."

Fingers were digging into his back. Micah had all but shoved his forehead onto his shoulder, hissing while the rest of him squeezed through every snarl as if he were being branded.

But Arthur didn't laugh at him for what shame he felt.

His broad hands found the same spots between the shoulder blades, casting wide rubs to warm some resolve back a man who so often convinced himself to be implacable.

Big bad Micah Bell, misery incarnate that walked the earth, now shedding down into his most fragile of states…right into the arms of the only man he clearly trusted. He whimpered from the soft kiss pressing against a parted spot in his hair.

"I got you," Arthur grunted. He was being squeezed so tight that there wasn't much space to breathe. He closed his eyes to kiss the crown spot again. "You're a good dancer-"

"Stop."

The wet croak should have surprised him. He stood still, loosened up and quiet as Micah pulled back, face flushed and shiny from sweat and tears. There was a distant glaze over his eyes and his hands were back up, exactly on the same spots along Arthur’s chest as they had been back in the tent.

“Ok.”

“No, it ain’t …” The other blonde heaved, arms trembling until they thrust his palms into a shove. He screamed in frustration when those damned strong hands gripped his shoulders so hard the both of them felt the joints pop. “Get the f-fuck off me!”

“What the hell?” In the scuffle, Arthur barked over him. "You hauled my ass all the way out here for a dance and now you back out? No, stay-"

He brought Micah back to him, an idea he regretted due to a knee suddenly crushing his groin in a rough kick. He was brought down to a cussing hiss, tears stinging in his eyes while trying to squint through the pain. Micah stood there like an idiot, face flashing through emotions of amusement and anger and back to terror as he stumbled backwards into a corner.

The fool cowered from the slow trudge that came his way, and he let a sob strangle him when the hands around his shoulders didn't.

"Micah…" Arthur's voice was an uncomfortable high wheeze, "I'm going…to kick your ass for that..."

He stroked his thumbs along the crisp fabric of the dress shirt to ease down the tensing beneath it.

"...F-for all this?"

"No…for kicking me in the balls, asshole."

He leaned in with a pained smile, pressing his forehead to Micah's. He could feel the other man's hands twitching between the space of their hip bones, hovering over those guns he seemed to love more than anything else in the world.

Untrue, as those glassy blue eyes were regarding him in a soft manner Arthur had never seen before.

"Y…y-you tell anyone about this, I-I will kill you."

Arthur was quiet for a moment, studying the tear streaks. The rapid breaths against his lips sent a pang of sentiment down into his gut. He nodded, faking a shaky sigh of his own to remain docile.

"Alright."

He leaned in, putting this standoff to rest with a kiss to Micah’s lips.

No, there was nothing wrong with kissing a fool, be they man or woman, the highest of politicians or the lowest of beggars. Knowing well how crippling that loneliness was and what demons it manifested, Arthur held Micah close, his hands cupping softened cheeks. He kept his mouth simple- nothing more than a press, to test and settle into. Micah was nearly tearing the collar of his union suit in the death grip held onto him.

Arthur could feel his own mustache dampening on one side from how much Micah's nose was sniffling. He could feel the opposing heartbeat in the crush between their chests. When he pulled back, he caught the other man with his eyes closed.

"Feel good?" He mumbled, hushing Micah again as another cheek stroke drew out a whimper. "This what you wanted?"

It was obvious. No lunatic went through all this trouble just to have a dance. He wanted Micah to acknowledge that. He already came to peace with himself for why he followed along.

He watched a half-assed head shake and leaned in to kiss him again, this time making the sound heard to seal his own commitment. Arthur Morgan was no coward.

"Take it easy. You're doing well. It's really alright-"

"No it isn't, Arthur." Micah choked at him. His bottom lip was trembling and his hands balled into fists. "I-it ain't alright! No man of the Bell name is some disgusting invert! My daddy would crawl out his grave a-a-and take my balls if he could!"

"Micah," Arthur sighed, though he was distracted for a moment by how warm his chest felt. They were now on a first name basis, and he felt a tingle of pride in his belly. "I don't know if you noticed but…" he pulled them both back to the center of the cabin and placed their hands back into their dancing hold, "Our gang ain't normal anyway."

He took full advantage of Micah's sensitivity in the moment to resume the slow dance they had been attempting, stroking along his cheek to keep him placid.

"We got folks of all colors. We got women. Got Uncle…" he chuckled, hoping to hear it returned. All he got was a small mumble and god, the way he was being stared at now was something else. For being such a rat bastard, Micah could pull off a perfect wounded expression. Knowing now it was actually real and not another one of his ruses made Arthur feel more absolute than ever to protect it.

He had been part of tea parties with Algernon and carried Albert like a bride through the gator mud of the bayou. He had been part of campfire confessionals between Dutch and Hosea, who committed to new loves and old honors but still held hands as they mumbled over philosophies. He had tracked down strange beasts for a man in a dress and had obliged a hug for a one armed beggar who mentally couldn't leave the war. The world was full of queer folk but in the end, it was those strange encounters that reminded him that the world still had hope to be free. If those tender moments made him an invert then hell, he'd wave a flag. They had all been much better company than the stuffy pomps of adjusted society.

He had an idea, once he glanced around the space. Guiding Micah with him, he broke the embrace to instead turn the other man around, standing behind him and peering over his shoulder as they looked at their reflections in the standing mirror.

"Look at you. All dressed up for a good thing. Wondered if you ever caught it, Micah…but we got inverts too."

He knew better than to spill out Bill's secrets, but the look he was being given told him that Micah clearly didn't take it that way. He noticed his own cheeks burning at the implication but ran with it, standing up proud and nodding.

"Yep."

That was him, big man Arthur Morgan. Enforcer of the legendary Van der Linde gang, accomplished gunman, team muscle…kisser of men. Surely that was one of his smaller sins, but he still nodded as though it were some gutting secret.

If anything, it hit a nerve that he had hoped. Micah's jaw finally stopped quivering and he dropped his shoulders on his next exhale, eyes twinkling as he stared at Arthur through his reflection. It was an opportunity to keep going, so Arthur did.

He wrapped his arms around his fellow sinner, chin on his shoulder and hands rubbing at the sides. He could feel the definition of Micah's soft belly there, smiling without shame as he seemed to find some tickle spots.

"Why do you care so much, what the world thinks when you know it hates you right back?"

He brushed the fluffy hair out of his way so he could place a few slow kisses along Micah's neck. He groaned into his final one when he felt a firm rump arching back against him.

"Hell with your pa. Him dead sounds like the best thing for you." He slipped a hand over the belly swell contained behind the snug shirt, holding Micah tighter with his other arm once he squirmed. "You ain't ugly. You ain't a freak…you may be bent, but you ain't broken."

He kissed a bit harder, almost in a vampiric tug to fight back against the crumple he prevented in his strong embrace. He chased every sob with a kiss along the expanse, trailing meticulously along every dry patch of neck he could find while holding Micah close, stroking his stomach and blindly swatting around until their hands joined again.

"If you would just…stop shitting on yourself with this idea you're nothing but shit, then the gang will like you more." Another apologetic kiss, this time right on the hickey spot he accidentally made. Arthur smiled at it; it had been years since he last made one. "I like you."

He pulled away and was careful in turning Micah back around to face him. He rubbed his hands on his pants to ensure his thumbs were clean so that he could use them to wipe at Micah's eyes while giving him a warm smile.

"You're a one-man riot who makes my life hell…but I keep coming back."

Micah sniffled at him, huffing through his nod. He cast a glance elsewhere, remembering that music had been playing the whole time. It was enough to reshape his focus, to exhale and rub at his face with the heel of his sleeve.

"You piss me off, a lot." He grumbled, refusing to look back. "You're a big bastard in combat and yet you're so…god damn nice."

He balled his fists and snorted.

"You're so nice a-and it's disgusting. People walk all over you and you just smile like the moron you are and yet they all love you after you break your…y-your back carrying them."

He snapped his gaze back, wounded and yet resolute. He pointed, just like he did at Mary-Beth.

"Fuck you, fuck you a-and your art and your cute talk and your honor and…and…"

He was panting again, but he closed his mouth and lurched through his breaths, sad eyes watering up again. He didn't fight back this time when Arthur pulled him back into a hug.

"That's the nicest thing you ever said to me." He smiled, rubbing at his back. "I know. You ain't gotta try to fluff it up for me." He bumped their foreheads again and let him go. He took a few theatrical steps back, as if he were pained from the loss but he knew how Micah got when he felt constricted. This constant back and forth was reminding him that it was still late into the night and his bones were tired, but Arthur was nothing if not a committed man.

"You're not off the hook though. You got all prettied up and made this big plan to dance, so…we're going to dance, alright?"

He didn't immediately go back for the next grab, instead holding his arms out to see if the mood was still there. Micah clearly had a lot of devils to tango with first, but it was a good start. His smile grew as the other blonde took a deep breath, straightened up and closed the distance.

Micah's eyes were still watery but his attitude had shifted in that moment. He was letting his gaze roam, increasingly bolstered as he understood now that he was safe in expressing himself. He was the one cupping Arthur's shoulders, testing their firmness with rubs that quickly slipped back down to the muscles in his chest, an obvious happy spot.

Arthur held still for him, watching with a hooded gaze. He must have looked so graceful, a peak male specimen in this exploration. He amused himself with mental images of a proud buck in the morning sun, courtesy of Charles.

At least his little jackrabbit was no longer threatened.

He let himself settle back into position once Micah grabbed his hands to return them to himself, one cupped over his shoulder and the other stroking on his cheek. They both exchanged messy smiles.

"Hey, pretty boy." Arthur mumbled.

"S-shut up." Micah wheezed, though his expression was almost breathless, absolutely elated.

He remembered to follow Arthur's footsteps during their return to the music, swaying and bumping hips and other things.

Astounding as it was for Micah of all people to be feeling him up like this, the heavy tremble that Arthur felt in his own heart was undeniable, keeping him warm and fuzzy and light on his feet. Micah's gaze was doing things to him- fitting for a new picture.

"Starting to feel a bit exposed here," he laughed. He watched Micah tracing a finger over his exposed chest hair to get used to get used to the sensation.

"Huh?"

"Just saying," he petted down a stray lock of white-blonde hair, "You're all dressed up for a show and I'm half in my long-johns."

The mischievous smirk he received was something else.

"Maybe that was part of the plan," Micah Bell, baddest man in the county, giggled while petting along Arthur's beard. He made a bratty face when Arthur arched a brow.

"Uh, yeah. Easier to take off."

Their laughter started out in small huffs until Arthur snorted when he couldn't stay serious anymore, barking out loud until it broke Micah's control and he too joined in, the both of them howling in a feedback loop every time they looked at each other. They both failed miserably at holding their breaths to try and hush down, only to start all over again.

They were almost to their knees in their hug by the time they both finally controlled their lungs.

Micah was the one who pulled him back this time. He had a look of gratitude in his soft baby blues, lips set in an honest to god smile of content and it stole them away into a tender mood, swaying and bumping into each other like giddy boys.

Arthur let him lead. This was his plan, after all. When the record finally settled into a scratchy finish, they must have lazily spun a hundred times. Micah ceased his footwork to look over at the phonograph, almost lamenting that it was over.

Of course, it wasn't.

He returned his gaze to Arthur and his eyes began to lock up, his blinks becoming more and more delayed. Arthur knew that tell all too well.

So, he pretended to be moved by the fingers digging into both of his biceps by lowering his face just enough and closed his eyes.

He waited, mouth closed and almost parted, breathing halted to telegraph the idea of spellbound forgetfulness. He pushed his chest right up into his rising shoulders when courage rallied the other outlaw's lips to greet his own.

Micah clearly wasn't a soft kisser, but this was good practice. Arthur held no disdain for working girls but he silently thanked them for their dedication to whatever they had to endure. This was his rodeo now.

Part of him wondered how long it was going to take until those hands began to cup elsewhere, or else this was going to end up feeling like something at gunpoint. Micah hardly moved his lips beyond a few timid pecks, but after letting one linger too long something changed. The next kiss delivered more pressure, the full pucker and parting sound. Then came the next, staying longer while tense fingers caught on the union suit during their ascent. They tangled in the back of dark blonde hair and scraped along a stubble, squeezing tighter from the jubilation of strong arms wrapping back around him. The beginnings of competition made him groan into their first bout of mutual nipping.

"You gonna fix that?" Arthur mumbled into a peck on a mouth corner, nodding his head in the direction of the skipping record. Micah shrugged and kissed him again. They both smiled.

They enjoyed it, until a distant cussing and the cries of their horses spooked them. Arthur stood up straight, blinked at the door and then made a glowering side eye to the other blonde.

"You didn't spot check? "

"How was I supposed to know he'd get home early?" Micah hissed while fishing for his gun.

"Since when did you of all people give a damn about keeping it clean? I was looking around for where you stuffed him!!"

"I wanted to impress you, asshole!"

They both aimed at the door, chest to chest, cheek to cheek, sassing at each other like smiling devils while cocking the hammers of their revolvers.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan #micah bell #morbell #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #enemies to lovers #first kiss #pining

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avintagekiss24 · 4 years

Text

one cup sugar, one cup spice | a. barber

→ pairing: andy barber x black!reader

→ word count: 7074

→ warnings: age gap, corruption kink, innocent reader, daddy kink, pain kink, smut, sex, loss of virginity, vaginal fingering, hand job (male receiving)

→ author note: happy holidays my dudes! what i would do to have andy barber standing in my kitchen... anyway, reader is i n n o c e n t, but totally of age, and in college. as always, line breaks by @firefly-graphics, gif by @evansensations

There’s a light dust of white covering the green lawns and black asphalt of the street. You shiver as you follow your parents out towards their car, pulling your beanie down over your ears before you shove your hands into your navy blue Dartmouth hoodie.

“Honey,” your mom coos, turning back towards you as your dad loads the car, “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Your aunt has plenty of room.”

“I’m positive,” you laugh, “Aunt Sohpie and I don’t get along that great anyway.”

“Well, you could try a little harder.”

Your mouth drops open, eyes wide as you stare at her, “She called me a stuck up, yuppie bitch when I told her I wasn’t going to stop using deodorant.”

Your dad chuckles, prompting a swift slap to the shoulder from your mother before she turns back towards you, “Sophie is a free spirit. She doesn’t believe in putting chemicals in or on her body. One week of trying to get along won’t hurt you.”

“Oh, it’ll hurt,” you answer, pulling her into a hug, “Smelling her B.O. for a week would actually kill me.”

Your mother tuts, pulling back and slumping her shoulders a little as she squeezes your sides gently, “I don’t want to leave you here alone for Christmas.”

“Oh, stop badgering the girl. She’ll be fine,” your dad cuts in, kissing your forehead when he approaches, “She had a tough semester, she’s allowed some alone time. Be good, baby. I left a credit card on my desk for any emergencies.”

You smile warmly, “Thanks daddy.”

There’s a sound of a door opening, then closing, heavy footsteps against the old wood of the porch next door, “Oh, Andy,” your mom calls towards the neighbor, “You got a minute?”

Your face scrunches as you glance over at your father, who sighs heavy, “Don’t get mad, baby.”

“Why would I get mad?”

“She kinda, you know,” he shrugs, knocking his head back and forth, “Asked the neighbor to look in on you while we’re gone,” when your face drops, he throws up his hands, “I didn’t do it, she did.”

“Mom!” You hiss, flipping your eyes to the tall, dark haired man cutting across his front lawn, “I don’t need a babysitter! I’m twenty years old!”

“Hush,” she whispers, plastering a smile on her face as she wraps her arm around your waist, “Sorry to bother you, Andy.”

“Oh, no, no, no. It’s okay, I was just checking the mail.”

You’re angry and embarrassed as the tall, older man approaches, but a sudden heat blooms across your chilled brown skin. Pushing your glasses up your nose, you take a heavy breath, expelling it hard as you eye him. You’ve only really seen him in passing, throwing your hand up in a friendly wave as you jogged into your childhood home during a long weekend away from school. You only vaguely remember him moving in about a year or two before. Hell, you don’t even think the two of you have uttered anything more than just a neighborly ‘hey’, and now, thanks to your mother, he’s going to be keeping an eye on you.

Just wonderful.

She smiles proudly, “You remember our daughter, right?”

“I do,” he smiles slowly, an intense pair of blue-green eyes bouncing between yours, “We’ve run into each other a few times over the years. How you doin’ kiddo?”

He reaches out, extending a large palm and long fingers. You take it gently, smiling soft as you drop your eyes from his, nerves suddenly pooling in your stomach, “Um, good. Thanks for asking. How um,” you swallow, glancing back up at him, finding his eyes still centered on you, “How are you?”

He shrugs, but keeps your much smaller hand in his, “Can’t complain.”

“Listen, honey,” your mom starts, “I asked Mr. Barber to pop over and check on you every now and again while we’re gone.”

“Mother,” fake laughter filling the air, your face hot from being annoyed to all hell, “I’m not a child, and I’m sure Mr. Barber has better things to do with his time than to check on me constantly.”

“It’s no problem,” he shrugs again, those eyes of his now roaming, down your body, then up again, slowly, “I have the next couple of weeks off myself.”

“Congrats on the promotion, by the way.” Your father smiles, finally drawing Andy’s attention away from you. He nudges your side with his elbow, “Andy’s the new District Attorney.”

You keep your eyes on the tall Andy, sliding them the length of his body. He’s sturdy. Broad shoulders not so hidden underneath his zip up hoodie, clinging to thick biceps. Dark jeans accentuate long legs and a little waist. A perfect, full beard lines his strong jaw and chin. Two enormous hands are shoved into the pockets of his pants, so large that they don’t even fit right… You inhale deep, drawing your bottom lip into your mouth, sinking your teeth into the flesh as a tiny moan slips through.

Blue eyes snap to you again as it sounds. God. Your lips part, eyes widen as they stare back at him in embarrassment. He just smiles again, slow and seemingly knowing; his eyes falling down your frame again.

“We better go if we’re gonna miss traffic, hun.” Your dad’s voice suddenly breaks into your conscience, snapping you out of the small trance that Andy Barber has leveled over you, “Andy, thanks for watching over our baby while we’re gone.”

Andy winks at you, “I won’t hover, I promise. If you need anything, at any time, I’m right next door, okay? Better yet, let me give you my number.”

You nod quick, clearing your throat as you fumble around with your phone, pulling it out of your hoodie and handing it over to him, “Sure, yeah. Th-thank you, Mr. Barber.”

“Andy,” he corrects, reaching out and cupping your elbow gently, “Please.”

Another warmth spreads through you, emanating from the contact, making you giggle and smile nervously like a stupid girl before you get a hold of yourself and blink away. You all exchange another round of pleasantries, Andy wishing your parents a safe trip before he locks eyes with you again— biting his lip as he blinks and hands your phone back before turning away and heading towards his mailbox.

Almost frozen in place, you blink as you watch him move across his grass, forcefully swallowing. You really need to get out more.

One last hug from your mom and dad and you wave as they pull out of the driveway, your mom waving excitedly at you through the windshield. Rolling your eyes, but smiling wide, you return a wave before heading back inside, locking the door behind you before making a brisk b-line to the front door.

Andy’s still outside, pushing the green trash cans up against his garage as you peek out at him from behind the thin, white, door curtains. He throws open one of the lids before dipping his head, eyeing the mail in his hand as he flips through it slowly, tossing the junk into the open can. A pink blush piques on his cheeks and the tip of his nose, lips red with the chill. He looks up suddenly— out of nowhere— and cocks his head, letting another smile curl onto his lips when the two of you make eye contact again.

You gasp and jump back, instantly turning on your heel to run up the stairs towards your bedroom, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!”

The smell of fresh baked cookies fills the house as you pull a pan from the oven. You hum in satisfaction, a small smile on your face as you scoop the sugar cookies onto the cooling rack before pulling your mom’s Santa Claus mittens off your hands and tossing them to the counter. Last Christmas by Wham plays from the small bluetooth speaker in the corner of the kitchen, A Charlie Brown Christmas on mute playing from the ipad leaning against the utensil holder.

There’s a random crackling from the fire you started in the living room as you move around, a whir from the mixer as it beats the eggs, powdered sugar, vanilla extract, and corn syrup together. You dip your finger into the mixture, popping it into your mouth and groaning as the sweetness explodes on your tongue before you pull the beaters out, slipping your finger down the stainless steel to collect the icing still stuck to them.

A knock sounds from the front door, permeating through the rather quiet house. You lean to the side, blinking at the door as a shadow shifts through the windows on either side. Shoving the icing laden finger into your mouth, you jog towards the door, bare feet heavy against the wood floor.

“One second, one second,” you mumble, wiping your hands on your pale pink cotton shorts before you tug at your hoodie and unlock the door. A sharp inhale of cold air fills your chest when you pull open the door to find one Andy fucking Barber standing on the opposite side, “Oh,” is all you can manage.

“Hey,” he smiles, “It’s been a few days, just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Being a biomedical engineering student, you can rattle off some of the most difficult, obscure words known to man with exactly zero problems. When it comes to social interaction with the hot, forty-something, lawyer next door? Your tongue is heavy, your brain… dumb.

His smile widens as you blink like a moron, his eyebrows climbing up his forehead as he waits for you to talk. Here’s the part where you speak, dumbass! “Um,” you stutter, “Sorry, I, uh, yeah, I’m okay. I’m good, sorry.”

“Smells good in here.”

Nodding, you bite your lip, your eyes everywhere but on his face— his stare just too much, “I’m making cookies.” you glance over your shoulder before you point, “Do you want to make some? I mean,” you slam your eyes closed, “Do you want to try some? Not, some, one, do you— do you want to try one? Or some… I guess… whatever.”

Idiot. You’re a bumbling, stumbling, idiot.

He chuckles, the rumble low and deep as he runs one of those big ass hands through his dark, soft looking hair, “That is the best offer I’ve had all day.”

He steps over the threshold, his fingers brushing over yours as he reaches to close the door. You snatch your hand from it quickly, wringing it within the other as you turn awkwardly and move towards the kitchen, swallowing hard, suddenly hyper aware of how bare your legs are.

“It’s Christmas Eve,” Andy starts from behind you, “I’m surprised to find you here and not out with some friends.”

You move behind the marble topped island in the center of the kitchen as Andy walks around the opposite side. His eyes are on you again, staring as you fumble with the spatula, your fingers going as dumb as your brain, dropping it with a loud clang. You don’t even know why— okay, you know why, but this is something deeper, something you haven’t experienced before.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No, I uh, I just kinda like to stay around the house.”

He nods slowly, “A homebody, huh? Me too.”

He makes you dizzy; his masculinity is intimidating. It fills up every little space in the room. His intelligence— worldly, experienced— oozes from him. He looks like you could ask him anything, anything, and he’d have the right answer for you. He could teach you a thing or two, that’s for sure.

A shudder creeps through your body, heat blooming across your skin, having to shift on your feet as your stomach flutters while you focus on icing this stupid cookie. The physical space he takes up unnerves you too. That wide, towering frame looming over you. Deft, thick fingers tapping gently against the countertop as you stumble around, your hands shaky.

There’s a stickiness. A warm, little wet spot in the center of your panties as stupid thoughts run through your stupid brain. You’re being ridiculous. Like this grown man would be interested in an inexperienced, socially awkward, in bed by eight thirty, little girl. Get a grip.

You slather some icing over the warm cookie and cautiously hand it towards him, clearing your throat and forcing a smile. Wringing your hands again, you find a little courage to lift your eyes just as he pops the small cookie into his mouth, closing his eyes as he chews slowly, a grunt sounding from deep in his throat.

Every muscle in your body clenches at the sound. It’s gorgeous— and if there’s anything your body appreciates, it’s a gorgeous man with a gorgeous grunt.

“It’s okay?” You squeak, timid and small before you nervously clear your throat.

“Shit, girl,” he moans again, licking his lips as he extends his hand again, “I could eat every single one of these.”

Nervous fingers clutch another cookie, adding a dollop of icing before you hand it over to him, eyes drifting up his chest and to his face as he devours the second treat. Your curious eyes watch with a longing. Pretty, thick, dark eyelashes closing again, splashing across smooth, slightly reddened cheeks. A pink tongue darts out of a wet mouth to slip along an inviting— too inviting— bottom lip, and you zero in on it. Chest rising and falling a little harder as you blink, in your own little world as you imagine just how much experience those lips, that tongue has.

There’s a hint of blue suddenly, his eyes no longer closed, now set squarely on you as those sickenly perfect white teeth emerge with another sly smile.

Another wave of embarrassment pushes through your veins, but you can’t look away from him this time. Locked in a heated stare, mind racing, palms sweaty as you watch Andy dip his index finger into the bowl of icing, scooping the sugary mix onto the pad of his digit.

“You like watching me, huh?”

Your mouth parts to answer, but nothing comes out, mouth and throat suddenly dry. He laughs at you, standing there, dumb and nervous, unable to form a coherent sentence as he pushes the tip of his finger into his mouth, sucking the icing from it slowly.

He’s moving, that much your brain can comprehend. Moving around the island, sliding the bowl of icing right to the edge where he dips his finger again, curling it to collect another glob.

Shallow, shaky breaths escape the small part in your lips, your chest and stomach so tight you’re surprised you can breathe at all. As it is, you have to rest your palm against the marble island, just to keep from falling over.

A long arm slips around your waist, nudging you forward— closer— so close that when one of those shallow, little breaths pushes out, your chest, well, your tits, brush against his. You picked a fine day to go without a bra. He drops his free hand to your waist, pushing it underneath your oversized hoodie to feel your skin as he wraps those long fingers around your hip, giving it a squeeze before he cups your chin.

“You have a boyfriend back at that fancy ass school?” He asks, eyes hooded as he tilts your head upward.

A hum vibrates through your chest before there’s a quick shake of your head as he pushes the icing over your bottom lip, smearing the sugary mix along it. He keeps your chin anchored in his hand as he stares down at you through slits, his own mouth dropping open as he coaxes yours.

“No, a smart girl like you doesn’t have time for boys, does she?” He purrs, “You probably haven’t even been touched by a boy.”

A squeak chokes in your throat as he teases you, pushing that finger back and forth, the tip pushing ever so gently into your mouth. He chuckles again, real low, menacing almost as he knows he has you right where he wants you.

“Ya know,” he starts, thumbs stroking your chin and jaw, “This Christmas cookie frosting would taste a hundred times better on you than my finger.” He smiles again, tilting his head, “Can I see?”

You mewl, pitiful and small as emotion pools in your eyes. You’re overwhelmed— nervous and unsure, wanting to be perfect. Womanly— but surely falling flat.

“Oh, baby,” he laughs, sweeping his thumbs underneath your eyes to catch the hot streaks, “Awww, it’s okay.”

Andy pushes in close, his lips brushing yours as he nuzzles his nose into the crook of yours, a low sound thrumming in his throat. He presses his cheek against your face, the soft hair of his beard pushing along your skin, goosebumps popping up all over. Your bodies start to sway in a slow rhythm, side to side, his warm breath washing over you as he smiles.

He pulls away, eyes traveling your face, “You haven’t even been kissed before?” When you don’t answer, he closes his eyes, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, “No? Oh, my sweet girl. That is just,” he groans, eyes twinkling with an emotion you don’t even understand, “You are so perfect— so good.”

His forehead comes to rest on yours, his hands still corralling your face, fingers sticky. His tongue darts out quick, licking at your lips, dragging up to the tip of your nose. You shudder, bleating as the rough velvet passes over your mouth.

Andy moans again, sucking the icing into his mouth and swallows slow, “Yum.”

You’re jittery— clammy, as labored breaths push out of your mouth, a murky fog clouding your brain. Shaky whirs tremble through your chest as you shift on your feet, your panties sticking to your now throbbing pussy. Andy closes the distance between your mouths again, his eyes hooded as he nips at you.

Your eyes flutter, closing instinctively— waiting for the claim. It doesn’t come, not right away, making your eyes pop open, a childish whine squeaking out. You even stomp your foot a little. Twenty years is a long enough wait.

“Kiss me,” you breathe, not wasting a second, “Please, Andy—”

The words are barely out of your mouth before he grabs your lips, inhaling deep. His tongue fucks into your mouth, slipping along the roof before massaging yours, sucking lightly. You go limp against him, trying to keep up with the fervent kiss, but soon just let him take full control.

Andy pushes his hips into yours, pressing his hard cock against you, forcing you to break the kiss, gasping deep. He rests his forehead on yours again, tittering as he bites his bottom lip, “Never felt that before, huh? Mmmm,” he groans again, “I bet you feel good. So tight and warm— umph, I’m probably not even going to be able to fit my cock all in.”

You shudder at the thought.

He brushes the tip of his nose against yours, “I gotta open you up a bit, don’t I? Hmm? This sweet little cunt needs to get used to being stuffed full.” He turns you in his hands, presses his burly chest into your back, his lips to your ear, “I want you to finish icing these cookies like a good girl, okay? You do as daddy says.”

You don’t move, you can’t really, as you try to comprehend what’s going on. It takes Andy pushing his crotch into your ass, grinding your hips against the island and literally grabbing your wrists, making your hands grab the butter knife and a cookie before your brain catches up. With shaky fingers, you push the knife through the icing and slather it on one of the small, round, golden brown cookies.

“Good girl,” he praises, pecking your cheek, nuzzling into the side of your face, “Daddy wants you to focus.”

He drags his warm palms up your forearms, stroking gently before they fall to your sides. They push up into your hoodie, fingertips glancing across sensitive, untouched skin. Small laughter vibrates through his chest as you jump and gasp, huffing and keening as he explores.

Little kisses are pressed to your temple and side of your face as his hands venture up your sides, curling around your rib cage until he’s grasping your bare tits in both hands, squeezing and kneading— hissing as he grinds his rigidly hard cock into your ass.

You freeze, body going stiff as nimble fingers play with your thick, piqued nipples. Warm lips nip at your neck as you push back into his hips, wiggling slowly, the thin cotton of your shorts not proving to be much of a barrier at all.

Andy reaches around, plucking the cookie out of your hand and pops it into his mouth just as his free hand skips down your stomach— right into your shorts. You jut your hips forward as his fingers plunge through your folds, massaging your clit slowly as he murmurs in your ear.

“That’s what I love about virgins. The slightest little touch gets you all worked up.” He pulls his hand from your shorts, holding it out for you to see your slick coating his fingers— a string connecting from his index finger to the middle. He brings his wet fingers to your lips, steel eyes peering at you as he waits, “Clean ‘em up.”

He slides his free hand back into your sweatshirt, pushing it up over your tits before he tweaks your left nipple, rolling it slow as he pushes the tips of his fingers into your mouth. Sweet, tiny little whines sound from you as you accept his long fingers into your mouth, starting to suck gently, the taste of your arousal exploding on your tongue.

“That’s right, just like that baby.” He reassures, slipping a hand back into your panties.

Your mouth goes slack around his fingers as he toys with you, rubbing your achy clit as your hips start to move with his rhythm. Resting your weight against his sturdy body, you moan loud, pushing out hard breaths, eyes slipping closed, head rolling on his shoulder as his wet fingers slip from your mouth back to your left nipple.

His fingers start to tease your slit, pushing gently, slowly, until… a sharp yelp fills the kitchen as two fingers stuff you full. Andy wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him, cooing in your ear as he continues to push in, “You’re okay baby. I know, I know sweet girl, we’re almost there. Just a bit more.”

Tears sting your eyes as your face strains from the pressure and pain of being spread for the first time. Once his fingers have disappeared, the heel of his palm pressing against your folds and clit, he pulls your chin towards him and licks at your mouth, sucking air in between his teeth.

“I can’t wait to fuck this sweet pussy,” he kisses you quick and hard, sucking your bottom lip into his mouth before he releases you with a loud smack, “I love a virgin cunt. It’s been a while since I’ve had one.”

You squeak when his fingers start to move, slow, deep, a squelch sounding as his fingers push into your muscles. It hurts, but there’s a twinge of good, something inside of you being pleasured once you push past the pain. The sweet taste of pleasure doesn’t stop the tears from rolling down your cheeks as his fingers pick up a brisk pace.

Andy growls in your ear, the sound scratching at the back of his throat, kind of hollow and breathy as he grinds his cock into your ass, “You havent fucked yourself like this before? I didn’t think I’d hurt you this bad with just my fingers, baby.”

A hot, rough wetness slides along your cheek, his tongue, lapping at you. You grab onto his forearm, feeling his muscles tense and flex as he fingers your innocence, digging your nails into the thick Shetland wool sweater covering his torso. He pushes deep, suddenly, making you cry out again.

He grunts, snaking his hand up into your hoodie to take a firm hold of your tit. Resting his forehead to the back of your head, he quickens his fingers, his hot breath on the back of your neck, quick swipes of his tongue and lips against your hypersensitive skin— making the miniscule hairs on your body stand on end.

His palm presses against your clit with each shove of his fingers. Strapping, hard chest flattened to your back, loud, husky moans in your ear. His hips roll and push, writhe into yours as his fingers start to thrash. Teeth sink into your shoulder, his tongue sliding and sweeping.

“Andy—” you cry, whimpering like a child, “It hurts. I— I can’t,”

“Oh, sweetheart.” His fingers slow and then stop, pulling out of you to rub your clit, soothing the balmy flesh. He turns you around in his arms as you cry, lifting you right from your feet, “I’m sorry. Shh, shh, I’m sorry, baby.”

The instant warmth of his mammoth chest and arms soothe the tumultuous pangs of anxiety coursing through you. Nuzzling in, the softness of his beard helps ease your nerves as you wrap two jelly arms around his neck. Andy’s big hands push up and down your back as he murmurs sweet nothings. Stomach tight, heart fluttering, face hot and wet with tears— you’re properly overwhelmed and overstimulated, and Andy could just eat it all up.

“You are so pretty when you cry, you know that? You did so good, baby. You took my fingers so well.”

You huff, disappointed, pushing your face deeper into his neck, “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, don’t do that,” he whispers, “It’s okay to not be ready.” He sits you back on your feet, pulling and adjusting your sweatshirt back over your chest. He pecks your lips quick before cupping your face in his hands, “It’s gonna make our first time together so much better.”

He pushes in to kiss you again, but stops, just as his lips brush yours. You get up on your tiptoes, wanting to meet his mouth but he’s quick, pulling away and stealing another cookie as he takes a step back.

“Thanks for the cookies, sweetheart.”

And just like that, with a wink and a smile, he’s moving out of the kitchen, the front door slamming behind him.

It might as well be the middle of a Texas summer heatwave in your bedroom. Exasperated, you throw the covers away from your body, skin slick with sweat as you wipe at your forehead. You’ve been like this all day— hot and irritated, stomach and mind jumbled, unable to focus on much of anything but thoughts of depravity. Pissed off at yourself more than anything; that you couldn’t take it all.

You sit up in the dark room, a sliver of moonlight spilling in from behind the thin curtains over your window. Snow flakes float down from the sky, glimmering, basking in the soft, natural light of the moon. Thoughts of Andy return. Reddened, full lips on your face, his soft, velvety, pink tongue forging its own path in the uncharted territory that is your mouth. His hands, big and warm, pinching and grabbing, pushing in deep.

Every muscle in your body clenches; achy cunt squeezing around nothing.

A soft light illuminates from the nightstand, followed by a buzz, a random alert from your twitter. But then, oh but then— Andy’s words come floating back to you. Better yet, let me give you my number. The sleek iphone is in your hand within seconds, fingers sliding over the keyboard, shooting off a text.

You 1:15am

You up?

Andy B. 1:17am

What’s a smart girl like you doing up so late on Christmas Eve?

An influx of air fills your lungs as your heart leaps.

You 1:17am

I can’t sleep…

Andy B. 1:18am

Want me to help with that?

You won’t be getting much sleep tho…

You 1:18am

That’s what I’m hoping…

Andy B. 1:19am

LOL, okay smarty pants, come wait for Santa with me, front door’s open

You’re already halfway down the stairs by the time his invite slides across the screen. You shove your feet into your Ugg boots at the bottom of the staircase and grab your jacket from the coat rack, pushing into it as you throw open the front door. Crossing your arms over your chest, you jog down the steps of the porch and start for Andy’s, an instant chill rattling right down to your bones.

Footprints in the snow follow you as you cross the lawn, a light crunch sounding underneath your feet, adding to the whoosh of a breeze that rips through the sleepy street. Once you’re on Andy’s porch, you reach for the door, pushing through the threshold and closing it softly with a click.

The house is dark, and quiet, a tiny point of light coming from the kitchen and the random ticks of a clock somewhere deep. Your jacket hits the floor, ugg boots thump against the wall as you kick them off, hand slides along the banister as you climb the stairs slow. Wide eyes adjust to the dark as you pad slowly down the long hall, passing by one closed door, and then another until you reach one that’s slightly ajar. Light spills out of it, splashing over your bare toes as you step right up to it, fingertips pushing against the door.

You find Andy propped up against his headboard, chest bare, legs spread— hard, pink cock sticking out of his boxers, gripped tight in his hand. He flips his eyes to yours as he strokes himself slow, pushing his hips into it, groaning at the sight of you.

The air in your body— the room— is sucked right out as you lock eyes. With a blink, your greedy eyes are on the move, down his hair smattered chest and chiseled stomach, over the dark blue boxer briefs, down his meaty thighs and toned calves, right to his curled toes and back up again.

You have to bite your lip to keep quiet.

“I’ve been,” the words out of his mouth come to a halt being replaced by a low grunt as he squeezes his cock, precum dribbling out of his slit, “Shit sweetheart, I’ve been thinking about you all day. Haven’t been able to cum since you left me all worked up.”

You bleat softly, blinking wild and nervous as you watch his hand slide up and down, palm and fingers sweeping over his mushroom head to collect the droplets of his arousal to push it down his shaft.

“Well, come on. Come touch me.”

It’s a good thing your feet aren’t as stupid as your brain, or else you’d still be standing in place. Before you can get your mind to catch up, you're pulling yourself towards the edge of the bed, falling forward, catching yourself with your hands. Crawling between his legs, your tank top hangs low, Andy’s eyes peering down your cleavage before you sit on your knees— hands trembling.

He reaches for you, grabbing your wrist gently, pulling your hand towards his towering cock. Guiding you slow, he wraps your hand around him, his hips jerking soft at the warmth of your palm and pushes your hand down to his base, before dragging it up to the tip. He helps you for a few more strokes, twisting your hand around him, guiding your fingers up over his cock head and then back down, squeezing your hand to apply a gentle pressure.

“That’s right, baby—ah—” he hisses, jutting his hips up into your hand, “Shit.”

You continue to pump him after his hand falls away, relishing in the small noises that sound from him— sending your heart soaring. His hips pulse into your hand, eyes fluttering as more cum bubbles out, slipping and sliding over your fingers. Andy reaches for the lamp on the nightstand, turning it out, covering the room in darkness except for the moon.

He’s beautiful like this. Chest tight and shuddering with each breath, dark eyelashes splayed over fair skin, a chorus of sweet, small little whines and praise pouring from him. A soft pink blush unfurling over his broad chest, creeping up his neck.

“Fuck baby,” breathless and strained, “You’re a fuckin’ pro already. My smart little girl.” You suck your bottom lip into your mouth but still can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners, “Oh, you like that?” Andy smiles lazily, “You like being my smart little girl?”

Hot lips are on yours before you can even form your mouth to answer. Flipped onto your back, strong hips digging into yours, his cock pushing against your covered clit and slit as he kisses you hard. It takes your breath away.

You’d always thought you’d be awkward, stiff and unknowing, once you finally reached this moment— nothing but teeth and elbows and knees in all the wrong places— but, there’s a natural instinct coming into play. You’re lost, but somehow intricately aware. Fingers creep up his biceps and curl around his shoulder blades, digging in as your hips push back into his. Mouth leans into the feverish kisses, tongue sliding with his.

Colossal hands push into your shorts, pushing them down before his feet knock them off the rest of the way. Your top is rucked up, up over your breasts, exposing more brown skin, two soft, jiggling mounds, two piqued nipples soon sucked into a warm, wet mouth. A long middle finger toys with your clit, rubbing circles before more fingers join, slipping through slick and skin as they play.

“Tell me,” hot, whispered words sting in your ear, “Tell me you like being my smart girl.”

Hips dig into yours once more, hard cock pushing against your sensitive nub, then pressing at your opening. You grab the back of his neck, moaning hard and loud as electricity bounces through your veins, “Andy—” you squeak, “I like—”

A sharp cry breaks through the words as Andy pushes hard, spearing you for the very first time. Pressure and pain courses through you, body going tight and stiff as he sinks deeper and deeper, large palms on your cheeks, forehead to yours, warm breaths and ragged, choked grunts washing over your face.

Hard kisses— one, two, three— on your lips as he holds your face, his eyes closed, mouth hanging as he sinks, sinks, sinks until you’ve taken him all. Your head is empty. Devoid of any real, coherent thoughts, unable to focus on any one thing; well, nothing other than the fullness.

“Tell me you like being my smart girl.” Andy rasps, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to keep himself together. He shifts, hips pulling away from yours, cock dragging out, “Come on baby, tell me you like it.”

Andy pushes his hips, pushes back into you, but real gentle and smooth, knowing you’re teetering— overwhelmed in more ways than one, a feeling that can turn south on a dime. So, he keeps his hands on your face, thumbs rubbing soft circles. He opens his eyes, giving you something to focus on as he moves gently— so, so gently. Keeping you present.

“Use those words, sweet girl. Talk to me.”

Water fills your eyes as you grip, nails biting into the meat of his sides as he fucks you slow and sweet. Heat burns through you, tiny sounds, choked sobs scratch at the back of your throat, but it’s good— feels so good. Your legs push up and around his waist, hands start to snake up his sinewy back, feeling the muscles flex and tighten as he makes you a woman— makes you his.

Safe. Warm. Cocooned between his heavy body and the light mattress. Hips rolling, pushing and pulling. Hot breath over hot skin. Quick, jumbled words, thick and ripe with a heady lust. You like being his smart girl. Gripping fingers, around your face, your wrists, your tits, hips, thighs, ankles— everywhere you could possibly imagine.

Andy flips you over suddenly, his back now pressed into the mattress as you lay on top of him. He positions you right where he wants you— sitting you up straight, positioning your hands against his brawny chest. He encases your waist with those massive hands, squeezing tight before the pads of his fingers drag along your thighs as you wiggle, getting used to the new position.

“Push up— that’s right, sweetheart,” he sighs softly as you follow his direction, “Now sit back down— slowly, baby, go slow.” His head falls back on the pillows as he exhales, a groan trembling through his chest, “God, yeah babe. Good girl. Up and down, up and down.”

Your fingers push through the tuft of soft, dark hair covering his chest as you ride him, lifting and sitting, rolling and bucking as you get a hang of it— catch a feel— your clit rubbing against his taut skin. You feel Andy trying to keep his composure, feel him trying to restrain himself, his hips. Watch his eyes flutter and close as his mouth goes slack again as he pushes up into you, meeting your increasingly greedy thrusts downward.

“I’m your smart girl,” you whisper, heart beating hard and fast in your chest as your confidence grows, “I’ve always wanted to be your smart girl.”

He jams up into you, much harder than anything you’ve felt so far.

A sharp yelp cracks into the silence and he grabs your wrists, runs his hands up your arms, before he cups your face, “Shhh, shhh, shhh, I’m sorry baby. I didn’t know it was gonna sound so sweet,” he laughs, “God, I fucking love hearing you say that.”

He drops a hand back to your chest, grabbing a handful of your tit, toying with your nipple, pinching and pulling. His other hand wraps around your hip again, helping to pull you forward, as he thrusts soft. You don’t move; you just let him fuck up into you, grab his hands and thread your fingers with his as you bounce.

Thrusts get faster; hips hurried, jabbing. Wet rasps fill the room, octaves soaring. You fall forward a little, unclasping his hands to catch yourself against his chest. Andy’s hands are back around your waist and hips as you fuck down onto him, chasing that little, dull ache in the pit of your stomach that grows with each push of his hips.

Andy has two full handfuls of your ass, growling loud, hips faltering— losing control as he forces you down on him. You take each hard thrust, tears spilling down your cheeks, pleasure and pain all wrapped up into one. Sweat and heat crawls along your skin, stomach goes tight, throat dries. You dig your fingers into his chest as your toes curl, whimpering and crying out, choking as the pressure builds.

You tighten— freeze quick, gasp hard as a white hot orgasm floods your veins, like a molten lava, oozing, spreading. Flattening yourself to Andy’s chest, you let him wrap his arms around your back and hold you tight as he fucks you through it. The meat of his thighs slapping against yours, your cunt sounding wet and filthy, squelching and convulsing as you come.

There’s another heat, quick and dense, filling you as Andy’s grunts grow deeper. His grip on your ass tightens as he spurts— your used cunt coaxing long, hot ribbons of white silk from his sensitive, red cock head. He falls out of you, dick wet and hard, pushing through your ass cheeks as his hips still churn out of habit and inherent instinct.

Hands are on your head, fingers wiping at your face and forehead, pushing hair away. You’re embarrassed— not sure why— and nuzzle into his neck, hiding your face as you tuck your hands into your chest protectively. Another laugh sounds from him, vibrates through you, as he kisses your forehead and rubs his bearded cheek against your face.

“You’re a sweet girl,” honeyed, his voice, smooth and sweet, slow drags of his hands up and down your back lulling you, calming you, suddenly nervous, “My sweet, smart little baby. You okay?” you nod, but it isn’t good enough, “Tell me.”

“I’m okay.” You sniffle, eyelashes clumped, cheeks wet, lips swollen and red.

You nuzzle into him more, taking a deep breath as you listen to his heartbeat. Another silence fills the room, Andy’s breaths soon turn deep, slow and rhythmic, his hands and fingers coming to a slow stop but still splayed out over your back. A quick press of your lips against his neck makes him shift, but doesn’t wake him. You press another on his chin before you settle down into him once more, watching as snow starts to fall again.

There’s a Christmas present sitting at the edge of the bed when you wake the next morning, your name scrawled out on the name tag. You tear into it, pulling out a small white box, the name LELO embossed over the top. Eyebrows firmly furrowed, you turn it over in your hand, mouth falling open as you read the description and eye the two twenty karat gold Ben Wa beads.

Andy appears in the doorway, a steaming cup in his hand, a smile on his face, “Merry Christmas. Santa came for you, huh?”

“Merry Christmas,” you glance away, “I don’t have anything for you.”

“That’s okay,” he shrugs, “I was a bit presumptuous after our little rendezvous in the kitchen— ordered those from Amazon yesterday.” He pads towards you, leaning down to kiss you quick before he hands you the hot mug, “Are you okay?”

A nervous giggle escapes through your lips, your head falling as you cover your mouth with your hand, “Mmhmm.”

Andy tips your head back upwards, pushing his index finger underneath your chin, smiling again before he kisses you all sweet and soft and slow, making you go all stupid and gooey again.

“What are these for?” You ask after he pulls away a few moments later.

His eyes twinkle in the sunlight as he winks, “Training. Now, lay back and spread your legs for daddy, little one.”

#andy barber #andy barber x black!reader #andy barber x reader #andy barber x you #andy barber smut #defending jacob #defending jacob fanfiction #defending jacob smut #avintagekiss24

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lostinthewiind · 3 years

Text

Piss Off Your Parents - Part 4

Ukai Keishin - Haikyuu

Synopsis: freshly turned 18, you want to prove to your parents that you aren’t a child for them to push around anymore. First, get a job at the local corner store. Second, use the store owner’s 26-year-old son with piercings and a cigarette addiction to piss your parents off. Third, accidentally fall in love.

Rating: Mature

Warnings: mentions sexual experiences of reader before she was of age, discussion about sex lives, flirting, touching

Song → 18 by Anarbor

Previous →Part 3

Next →Part 5

Head resting in your hand and elbow resting on the counter, you huffed, still not used to the heat that accumulated in the store throughout the day and praying for just one customer to walk through the door so you could experience a refreshing blast of evening air. You supposed you could go outside yourself to cool off a little, like Keishin had previously suggested in lieu of sticking your head in one of the fridges, but being the only person at the store currently, you felt a little bad about leaving the building, even if it was just to step out front.

You were still trying your best to put on a good impression for Mrs. Sakanoshita—despite the rough first impression you had made on her son—and you knew the family store was precious, so you decided to suck it up for the remainder of your shift.

Without much to do, since you had completed your chores early, you remained seated at the front counter, bored out of your mind. That was, until your prayers were answered and you heard the front doors slide open.

“Hello!” you greeted happily, ready to welcome a customer. Your radiant excitement faded when you noticed it was just Keishin, however, and went back to slumping on the counter. “Oh, it’s just you.”

“Wow, those rapid mood changes must be why we’ve been so busy lately,” Keishin shot back at you, a cigarette hanging from his mouth like usual. “Will the girl behind the counter smile or frown at you? Maybe it’ll be both. Oh, how exciting!”

“Can it, dye job,” you grumbled.

Keishin feigned hurt, his hand resting over his chest dramatically as he pretended to have been shot. “Words hurt, you know. You’ve hurt me.”

“That doesn’t matter,” you told him, lazily gesturing around the empty store. “What does matter is that we’ve been dead for hours and I’m bored.”

Keishin poked his bottom lip out and faked a pout. “Awh, poor baby. Is getting paid to sit there and do nothing hard work? You must be exhausted. Poor thing.”

“I don’t get paid nearly enough to put up with you.” You reached across the counter to lightly smack his shoulder but he jumped out of the way just in time. “Seriously though, stay and entertain me for a while.”

“If you’re that bored, why don’t you dust the vents or something?”

You laid your head down on the counter and exhaled slowly for effect. “You know I aim to please but that sounds like hell. Can’t you just talk to me for like ten minutes? Tell me about your day or something.”

Keishin threw his head back and groaned loudly. “But I’m too hungry to think about anything other than food right now.”

“I’m hungry too but you don’t see me complaining about it.”

“No, you’re just complaining about everything else.” He leaned against the other side of the counter, his tongue flicking against the tip of his cigarette as he thought. “Actually, I’ve got a better idea.”

You glanced up at him, waiting for him to elaborate. “I doubt it but proceed.”

Done with your constant back talk, which was extremely common between the two of you ever since you had worked out your differences and agreed to the deal he had suggested, he took a drag of his cigarette and blew the smoke directly into your face. “Just shut up and listen, will you?”

You coughed when you accidentally inhaled the second-hand smoke. “If I get cancer and die, I’m haunting you.”

“Go ahead.” He didn’t pay any attention to the words leaving your mouth as he headed into the back room and shut off the store lights. Then, with his own set of keys in hand, he headed back toward the front of the store. “Come on.” He looked back at you expectantly when you didn’t immediately follow.

Confused, you slowly stepped around from the back of the counter. “Where are we going?”

“We’re closing up early and going to get something to eat.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, half of you wondering if this was some sort of employee test to see how responsible you were. “Are we allowed to do that?”

“I am, you aren’t,” Keishin said, beckoning you over to him. “But let’s just keep this between you and I, yeah? What my mom doesn’t know won’t hurt her. Besides, it’s slow anyway.”

Taking off your white apron and grabbing your things, you reluctantly followed the older man out of the store and watched as he locked up behind the two of you. Anxiously, you shifted your weight from foot to foot. “Are you sure I won’t get in trouble for this?”

“I promise I won’t tell on you,” Keishin assured you as he stuffed the keys back into his pocket and dropped his cigarette bud to the ground before crushing it with his foot. “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

Falling into pace beside Keishin as the two of you set off down the sidewalk, you following his lead, you weren’t sure exactly sure what to say or even if you should say something. Never before had you and Keishin existed outside of the store together and it felt a little awkward.

“So . . . is this like a date or something?” You regretted the words as soon as they left your mouth. What you had meant to come across as a casual inquiry ended up sounding more like a desperate girl clarifying what she meant to the boy she liked. You sounded like a child.

The corners of Keishin’s mouth curled upward and he shrugged. “Call it whatever you want.” He really didn’t seem to care one way or another. “Although, I’d be a horrible boyfriend if I didn’t take you out at least once . . . fake or not.”

You nearly choked on your spit at the use of the word ‘boyfriend’. Even though you had been pretending to date him for the purposes of changing your parents’ ideals for the past few weeks, you were still caught off guard every time Keishin referred to himself as your boyfriend—even though he was usually doing it to mock you.

“Yeah, just awful,” you agreed halfheartedly. “Where are we going anyway?”

“This little place that I like,” he said, his answer extremely vague until he continued. “Best ramen I’ve ever had.”

After a few more minutes of walking, the two of you arrived at the place Keishin was talking about and he ordered two take-out bowls and paid for them both, insisting that you should try his regular order since you had never been there before. Not wanting to disagree because he was footing the bill, you let him do what he wanted and tailed him out to a picnic table outside like an obedient puppy.

“It’s much too hot to eat inside,” Keishin reasoned as he plopped down on the opposite side of the picnic table from you. “Plus, it’s nice outside. Might as well enjoy the weather while it lasts, right?”

“Right.” You nodded.

While Keishin dug right into his meal, you sat still, hands in your lap, and watched him. One thing you had quickly come to realize was that Keishin was the perfect specimen for people watching, and not just because he was relatively easy on the eyes. He was an interesting person; for example, how he tucked half-smoked cigarettes behind his ear to smoke later or how he always wore a headband to keep his hair out of his face but vehemently refused to just cut his damn hair.

Even though you bugged him about cutting his hair all the time, you secretly hoped he would continue to stand his ground and refuse because you wanted to see what he looked like with his hair down. You also wanted to run your hands through his hair—it looked soft and fluffy—but that was besides the point.

“Hey, it’s gonna get cold,” Keishin snapped you out of your thoughts, his mouth half full of ramen as he jabbed his chopsticks in your direction. “Don’t tell me you don’t like ramen. You should have said something before I ordered for both of us.”

Snapping out of your daze, you picked up your chopsticks and shook your head. “No, I like ramen.” You took a bite to prove your point. “Sorry, I was just lost in thought.”

Keishin waited for you to eat a little more before digging for your consensus. “Good, right?”

“Yeah, really good,” you agreed. “I always walk past this place but I’ve never gone inside.”

“I was the same way. It doesn’t really catch your eye, so unless you’re looking for it, it’s easy to miss,” he said. “Then one day my grandpa took me here for my birthday and I’ve been coming ever since.”

You snickered. “Popular date spot then?”

Keishin cocked a brow. “What?”

“I mean, if you come here a lot, I’m sure it’s a go-to for dates,” you continued. “It even comes with a wholesome story about how your grandpa introduced you to it. Ultimate chick magnet.”

Keishin just rolled his eyes at you. “You know, contrary to popular belief, most girls don’t like it when you take them out to eat cheap ramen on a picnic table that’s falling apart.”

You chuckled. “I wasn’t going to say anything about the table, but I’m pretty sure I have at least ten splinters in my ass by now.”

“Yeah, this thing is torture. So eat fast and then we’ll move to the park across the street or something.”

Shoveling the rest of your food into your mouth, you ate fast while Keishin stared you down, every second that passed introducing your butt to a new world of pain. As soon as you were done, Keishin took both of your take-out bowls and tossed them into a nearby trashcan.

“Well, sucks for all those other girls then, because that ramen really is amazing,” you said when Keishin returned, the two of you crossing the street and heading into the park.

“Told you.” Keishin smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.”

Once in the park, which was empty considering it was dark out and most kids were in bed by then, the two of you picked a nearby bench that wasn’t splintering and took a seat.

Drawing your knees up to your chest, you wrapped your arms around your legs and sighed. “Thanks for dinner.”

“Yeah, no problem.” He let his head fall back and looked up at the night sky. “Damn, I could really go for an ice cold beer right now.”

“Well, we could start heading back now if you want,” you suggested. “The beers at the store are extra chilly since I didn’t stick my head in the fridges to cool off today, despite how sweltering it was.”

Keishin laughed. “Well, thank you for that,” he drew in a deep breath and relaxed into the bench, deciding whether to get up or not. “Let’s stay here for a while longer though.”

“Okay.”

Silence fell over the two of you as you stared up at the sky and listened to the sounds of Miyagi in the evening. You tried to remember the last time you had gone out like this—just going wherever you wanted and doing whatever you wanted. You couldn’t recall the last time . . . or even if there was a last time.

Tilting your head to look at Keishin, you smiled at the sight of him sitting with his eyes closed, arms crossed behind his head and head lolled back. He looked happy, almost as peaceful as he did when he was sleeping.

“Hey,” you whispered.

Keishin cracked an eye open to look at you. “Hmm?”

“Thanks for tonight.” You breathed in the scent of the night air and a feeling of content washed over you. “As you’ve probably already figured out, I don’t really have any friends. I don’t get to go out like this very often . . . or ever, really.”

“You don’t need to thank me. It’s what boyfriends are for, right?”

You giggled. “Well, considering you’re not my real boyfriend, I think a ‘thank you’ is in order.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” he caved. “Speaking of fake boyfriends, how’s it going with your parents?”

You let out a frustrated moan. “Oh, about as well as expected. When I mentioned I was seeing someone they bombarded me with a million questions, none of which were answered to their satisfaction.”

Keishin cringed. “So I’m that bad, huh?”

You scoffed. “If you think that’s bad, you should have seen their faces when I showed them a photo of you.”

Keishin let out a laugh. “Don’t tell me they weren’t fans of the piercings?”

“Oh, they weren’t fans of anything,” you said. “I think the only positive thing they could say about you was that you had a pulse . . . no offense.”

“Eh, no worries. At least they didn’t call me a burnout . . . then I would have started crying.”

“Hey!” You smacked at his shoulder again, managing to hit your target this time. “I said I was sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t pay for my therapy.”

“Yeah, well, if you need therapy I doubt I’m the biggest reason.”

“You really are so cruel to me. Do your parents know you facilitate abusive relationships?”

You closed your eyes and shook your head. “That insinuates I’ve had past relationships, or any real ones.”

Keishin craned his neck to look at you, eyes wide. “Wait, you’ve never been in a relationship before? Like never?”

“Nope. I don’t even have any friends, so what makes you think anyone wants to date the boring girl with the crazy parents?”

Keishin looked at you like you were some wounded animal he had just found on the side of the road. You could see in his eyes he was slowly coming to terms with just how isolating your life was. You could tell he felt bad, but the last thing you wanted was his sympathy.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that,” you told him. “I’m not completely pathetic, okay? I still went through my experimental phase like most teenagers do. I just had to be very sneaky about it.”

“Sneaky?”

“You know, back of a car, other people’s houses when their parents were gone. As far as my parents know, I’m untainted . . . a precious, naive virgin. I’m just not very experienced.”

“I can imagine.” Keishin was a little thrown by the direction the conversation had taken, but you were both adults and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little curious, so he just rolled with it. “High school boys aren’t exactly known for being great in bed.”

The two of you let out a shared laugh at that. “You got that right,” you agreed.

“So, wait, no relationships but you’ve had sex? So you’ve never been with someone you have a genuine connection with?”

You eyed Keishin, perplexed by the sudden sincerity in his words. “You didn’t peg me as someone who cares about that kind of stuff.”

“I mean, I’ve had my fair share of one night stands, sure, but I’m not completely heartless,” he said, the eye contact he was using while he spoke sending a chill down your spine. “It’s completely different when it’s someone you care about. The experience is something everyone should have at least once in their lives.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a genuine connection with anyone before,” you confessed, unsure why you were spilling some of your deepest secrets in public, on a park bench, to a man you had only known for a couple of months. “It’s kind of hard when everyone is held at an arm’s length away.”

Without warning, Keishin shifted closer to you and placed his hand on your face, the pad of his thumb ghosting over your bottom lip. “I . . . I don’t know what to say,” he breathed.

“It’s not sad, not for me at least. You can’t miss something you’ve never had,” you spoke softly, worried you might scare him away if your voice was too loud or if you made any sudden movements. “No best friends, no boyfriends. Just me, my parents, and everyone else.”

Keishin looked like he wanted to say something; in fact, he looked like he wanted to say a lot of things, but despite this, he remained silent. Maybe he was worried about offending you, or maybe he was finally understanding just how different you were from other people. Maybe he didn’t like different.

“But now there’s you.” You flashed a small smile, hoping to draw him out of whatever mess was going on inside of his head. “I’ve never met someone like you before.”

“Someone like me?” he finally spoke.

You nodded as you placed your hand over the one he was resting on your cheek and held it. “I’m not your responsibility and yet you’re going out of your way to help me. Not to mention I don’t even deserve your help. You are the first truly selflessly kind person I’ve ever met. Thank you.”

“What if I’m not as kind as you think I am?” His hands found their way to your waist and he pulled you into his lap so you were straddling him. “What will you do then?”

“That depends on what you’re planning on doing.”

Hands running up your sides, Keishin dug his finger tips into your skin as you lowered your head toward his, mouths inches apart. “What if I took you home, laid you down, and took care of you like a boyfriend should?” You could feel his hot breath on your face as he spoke. “What if I took advantage of your lack of experience?”

“I would say thank you,” you said, inching closer. Before your lips met, however, you stopped yourself. “But I promised not to fall in love, and I think it would be awfully hard to keep my promise if you did that.” With that, you planted your hands on his shoulders and pushed yourself away from him before he could make a decision he would later regret.

Standing up, you collected yourself and drew in a deep breath. As soon as you had detached yourself from Keishin, you could see the fog that had been clouding his judgement dissipating as he came back to his senses.

“I should probably head home now.” You decided, not wanting to ruin the first actual friendship you had by doing something stupid and selfish.

“Yeah.” Keishin nodded, slowly standing up as well. It was clear he was slightly embarrassed by his actions, but you also noticed the glint in his eyes that gave away the part of him that still wanted to take you home with him.

Trying to immediately leave what had just happened in the past, you smiled and turned to start heading home, opting to take the longer way so you wouldn’t have to take the same route as Keishin. “Good night, Keishin.”

“Good night, Y/N.” You heard him call after you, but you didn’t look back at him. Instead, you kept walking, hoping the time apart would serve as a reset on your relationship and put things back to how they had been before that night.

A few weeks ago, you would have jumped at the chance Keishin had dangled in front of your face just now. But since then, you had realized he was more important to you than someone you could just throw away with a one night stand. And since there was no way the two of you could actually be together, this was the only option if you didn’t want to lose him.

If only someone had warned you that genuine connections were this complicated.

#haikyuu #haikyuu!!#lostinthewiind #piss off your parents #ukai #ukai keishin #ukai keishin x reader #keishin #mature #haikyuu smut #x reader #reader insert #reader imagine #part 4 #song fic

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thishintoflove · 3 years

Text

“I Think He Knows” - A Kingsman Fanfic

TSwift Songfic Week Day 5

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x M!Reader

Warnings: 18+ Explicit (Pining, dirty talk, hand jobs, oral sex)

A/N: I feel like there’s a lack of M/M in the Pedro cinematic universe fandom, so here’s some bisexual Whiskey having a good time with a fellow male agent.

Summary: You and Agent Whiskey are paired together for an out-of-state mission. On your last night, your pining and his flirting finally come to a head.

I think he knows his hands around

A cold glass

Make me wanna know that body

Like it's mine

The mission was long but you were finally finished with it. Three weeks in Dallas were more than enough for you, and you were looking forward to getting home to your own bed and your own office in Kentucky. You were aching for the privacy it offered, after spending almost a month sharing a hotel room with your fellow agent. This time you’d been paired up with Agent Whiskey, and because of that you were glad the trip was almost over.

It’s not because Agent Whiskey- Jack - was incapable. Quite the opposite. He was extremely efficient and good at his job but he was also… extremely attractive. Which was a huge distraction.

You took pride in being a capable agent but Jack and his pretty face compromised that. You’ve never been in a situation like this before. Lusting over your coworker felt extremely unprofessional, but it was impossible to ignore him. He was an in-your-face kind of guy, always butting in with a comment or joke, always using his body as a weapon. He’d lounge around your shared hotel room in nothing but a thin towel, his wet hair draped across his forehead, and you swear he did it on purpose. The man knew how attractive he was and he obviously loved flaunting it.

He was tall and tan, with soft brown hair, a pair of beautiful round eyes that seemed to sparkle with amusement, and a smile that made your knees weak. The downside was that his smile made just about everyone weak. You were living in your own personal hell. Every single day having to watch Jack be attractive without even trying, and then watch as everyone in his vicinity tried to flirt with him. Tonight he was wearing a black leather jacket and extremely tight jeans, looking more like a movie star than an undercover agent. The man could pull off anything. It’s actually unfair.

You were out at some dive bar, celebrating the end to a successful mission before flying home tomorrow. It was Jack’s idea of course, but you’d agreed because you needed a stiff drink after these three long weeks and honestly you couldn’t say no to him.

“Another round, kid?”

You glanced up and saw him staring at you, a twinkle in his bright eyes. His hand gripped his empty whiskey glass and you eyed your own half-full drink. You couldn’t throw it back like him.

“I’m good for now,” you answered.

He nodded and slapped you on the shoulder as he stood up, “I’ll get you another one anyway. You better finish that by the time I get back.”

You sighed as you watched him walk away. His ass looked fantastic in those jeans. All the training and harsh exercise routines that Champ put the team through really worked for him. No wonder he could get any pretty thing he wanted.

Speaking of which, he seemed to have turned his affections on someone else. You groaned, your eyes never wavering from where Jack stood. He was currently making small talk with the pretty brunette bartender. He was giving her the full Whiskey treatment- gazing at her with those soft, mocha-colored puppy dog eyes and giving her a charming half-grin. Watching him flirt was simultaneously entertaining and torturous. He threw his head back, laughing at some dumb joke the bartender must have said, and you almost growled out loud as you hungrily stared at his neck.

Stupid horny bastard.

He got that boyish look that I like in a man

I am an architect, I'm drawing up the plans

It's like I'm seventeen, nobody understands

No one understands

You were getting really sick of hiding your partial hard-ons and jacking off in the cold shower, but everything the man did was hot. The deep voice and accent alone were enough to get you going on most days. God, you hadn’t felt like this since high school.

If Jack noticed you staring or caught on to the fact that you took extra long showers, he didn’t say anything. You were openly out at the agency and your sexuality wasn’t a secret. When you first joined the Statesmen, you felt you had something to prove at work, as if you had to demonstrate your masculinity by keeping up with the largest members of the team. But you’ve excelled in your role for years now and you were beyond proving yourself at this point. You were just glad that Agent Whiskey wasn’t one of the people who cared that you liked men.

In fact, he treated you just like he treated everyone-- this meant he wasn’t shy about flirting and teasing you. Sometimes it seemed like he was coming onto you, but you had to remind yourself that he was like that with everyone-- you weren’t special and there was no way he was actually interested.

Before falling asleep each night, you’d listen to Jack’s soft snores and run scenarios through your head of every possible way that you could share your feelings. You thought about all of the things you could say, and all of the ways Jack could react. It was agonizing but your analytical mind couldn’t stop. You wished you had the courage to just ask him out. The worst that could happen is he’d say ‘no’ and maybe request to never work with you again, but then at least you’d be free of him.

Wanna see what's under that attitude

Like, I want you, bless my soul

And I ain't gotta tell him

I think he knows

A loud laugh suddenly interrupted your thoughts and you looked over to the bar again. The bartender was giggling and grasping at Jack’s arm. The sight made your stomach turn, and you made a quick decision to get out of there before you had to watch them start making out over the bar.

You stepped up next to Jack and finally drew his attention away from the girl.

“Hey, hold off on my drink. I’m gonna head out,” you told him.

“What? Come on now, it’s so early!”

“Yeah. I just don’t really feel like hanging out anymore. I’ll see you back there.”

Before Jack could respond, you threw down some cash on the bar and turned away. You were already across the floor and on your way out the door when a hand on your arm stopped you.

“Hey. Are you pissed at me or something?”

“No,” you muttered, trying to ignore the shot of arousal you felt when he grabbed you, “I just don’t feel like sitting in the corner, watching you flirt with some chick.”

You tried to turn away from him, but Jack let out a quiet “ohhh” of understanding. His grip on your arm tightened.

“We’ve been on this mission for weeks now, and on our last night you finally decide to say something?” Jack laughed, turning you around so you were facing him again. He invaded your personal space, ducking his head and trailing his nose along your neck and jaw.

“What?” you asked, confused because he couldn’t possibly mean...

“You're so slow, that’s what,” Jack mumbled, his lips tracing along your neck. It felt amazing, but... was Jack- your fellow agent and known womanizer- really nuzzling your neck right now?

“I'm confused, are you really into this?” you asked again, trying to hold back a moan. Jack pulled away and looked at you with huge eyes.

“God, you’re an idiot. I've been sending you obvious signs, makin’ eyes at you and showing off what I got, and now I'm literally biting your neck, and you're still asking?” Jack said incredulously. You searched his face and saw eyes that were filled with desperation and lust.

“I just assumed…”

“I like it both ways, kid. Is that clear enough for you?”

He then took one step forward and kissed you fully on the lips. There was only a moment of shock before you melted into the kiss, pressing your bodies closer and running your hands over Jack’s shoulders and back. All of your worries disappeared then. You didn't feel the terrible anxiety that constantly filled you with dread. Your mind stopped frantically thinking about every possible worst case scenario. Everything stopped. There was only Jack.

“Oh ohhhh right. Yeah I’m an idiot,” you quietly mumbled against his lips, “Want to go back to the hotel?”

“Fuckin’ finally,” he replied with a grin.

Lyrical smile, indigo eyes, hand on my thigh

We can follow the sparks, I'll drive

So where we gonna go?

I whisper in the dark

You weren’t sure how you made it back to the hotel so quickly, but as soon as you tumbled through the door, Jack had you pinned to the bed underneath him. His hands roamed all over your torso, and he pulled the shirt over your head and tossed it aside before quickly doing the same to his own. The room was filled with your little whimpers every time Jack ground his hips against yours. You stared up at him, his lips swollen and red bitten and eyes blown with lust, and you were positive that you looked just as debauched. He looked just as beautiful hovering over you as you’d always imagined, and you wanted to feel him everywhere.

“More,” you whined, canting your hips up into Jack’s.

He groaned and trailed his hands down your chest, his fingers brushing against your nipples, causing a moan to slip from your mouth. He continued his journey down until he reached the fly of your jeans.

“Lift up,” Jack mumbled, leaning in to kiss your neck as he tried to tug your pants down. You obeyed and soon your pants and your boxers were off, leaving you completely exposed.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he moaned, his fingers barely brushing over your erection, “You’re even prettier than I thought, darlin’.”

You groaned, pushing your body closer to Jack’s. As his hand slowly learned the feel of your cock, your own hands wandered all over his body. From his strong shoulders to his muscular back, to his waist, his hips, his thick thighs. You slipped one hand into his jeans to grab his ass, finally getting the chance to touch the part of Jack’s body you’d fantasized about the most. You could feel his clothed erection rubbing against your thigh as Jack continued steadily stroking your cock.

“Jack,” you whimpered, gazing into his dark, lust-filled eyes. You were barely able to control your thoughts properly since Jack’s pace was getting quicker and way too distracting. He grinned down at you.

“This good, baby? You want it a little rougher?” he asked, a groan slipping from his lips as you squeezed his ass in response.

Jack pushed forward and kissed you harder this time, moving his hand faster along your cock. Then he kissed his way down your neck, sucking and nipping all your sensitive spots. Suddenly he bit down hard on the skin between your neck and shoulder, following it up with a long lick with his wide tongue. That show of possessiveness was enough to push you right to the edge. You cried out as pleasure tore through you, coming in ropes all over Jack’s large hand. You gasped for breath, your chest rising and falling as your head lolled against the pillows.

Jack hovered over you, continuing to kiss your neck and upper chest as you came down from your high. “I’ve been told I’m good with my hands, can I get a confirmation on that, darlin'?“ he asked with a cocky grin.

Your eyes blinked open and you smirked at him. “You’ve got the confirmation all over your hand.”

“Ooooh, so he’s mouthy all of a sudden. Guess I just had to get you in bed to see the sassy side of you, huh?” Jack tutted.

“I’ll show you mouthy,” you muttered, blushing at the stupid euphemism even as you trailed a line of kisses down Jack’s sternum and belly.

When you reached the top of his jeans, you surprised your fellow agent by flipping him over and yanking his pants down in one fluid motion. Jack growled at the switch, but when you took his cock into your mouth, he gasped and surged forward. You enjoyed the desperate moan he made as you swallowed him completely, his hips bucking into your mouth. But you wanted to take your time with this. You grasped his hip bone with one hand and held him down, before pulling off his cock and moving to lightly lick his balls. Jack was making beautiful, desperate noises and you loved the idea that this strong, confident agent was falling apart because of you. You smiled against him and swiped your tongue along the bottom of his shaft before taking him fully into your mouth again.

“Holy hell, you’re fuckin’ amazing,“ Jack groaned as you bobbed up and down on his cock, “I’m so close-”

You sucked harder and reached your other hand down to fondle his balls again as Jack thrust into your mouth. Soon he was arching forward and shouting your name. You let him come in your mouth, swallowing his seed down like it was another shot at the bar.

When you looked up at Jack from between his legs, you grinned. He had his head tilted back, one hand thrown across his mouth as he stared at the ceiling, breathing heavily. When he felt your eyes on him, he looked down at you with a satisfied smile.

“Damn, that was…”

“Amazing,” you cut him off, “Even better than I imagined.”

“So you imagined it, huh?”

Unable to control the urge any longer, you leaned forward and pulled Jack into a sweet, affectionate kiss. You ran your fingers through his soft hair and you could feel him grinning the whole time. When you finally pulled back, he was still smiling but he also looked a bit confused.

“Why haven’t we done this sooner?” he asked.

“I was convinced you were straight. I’ve been a fucking mess trying to decide if I should say something or not,” you replied.

Jack hummed and reached for you, but you chuckled and pulled away.

“You need a shower,” you said, “Then we can talk some more.”

“Only if you join me, sugar...”

I want you, bless my soul

I ain't gotta tell him

I think he knows

#agent whiskey #jack daniels #kingsman golden circle #jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x male reader #pedro pascal x male reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #my fanfic #fanfiction tag

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the-iceni-bitch · 3 years

Text

Search No More

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Words: Guessing cuz I’m on mobile again, 1.5k?

Summary: Andy has a new job and needs you to save him from forced camaraderie.

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content (unprotected vaginal sex), alcohol consumption by adults of appropriate age, Neal Logiudice (cuz fuck this guy), SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!

A/N: Another one from the WIP folder that is specifically for @imanuglywombat’s “Is that even a sex position?” challenge, week three. I figured a nice soft position would be perfect for our favorite floofy lawyer boi. Please check out the other great fics this challenge has given us and enjoy!

Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!!

It had been a slow night at the bar, so your staff practically insisted on sending you home early, Jesse shoving out the door as you protested feebly.

“Take a night off, boss.” He grumbled amicably as he ushered you towards your car, handing you your coat and bag as a light snow started to fall. “Maybe go snuggle with that boyfriend of yours that’s always hanging around. Where is he tonight anyway?”

“There was a new faculty mixer.” You said with an eye roll. “You’re sure you’ll be fine, Jess?”

“We’re always fine.” He said dismissively with a wave of his hand as you climbed into your vehicle.

You texted Andy as you started your car to see where he was and he practically begged you to come meet him at the party, whining about how sinfully boring law professors were. You got the address from him and headed out, arriving in the posh Newton neighborhood in a little under 30 minutes.

There were a few partygoers hanging around outside, and you cursed to yourself when you saw them wearing cocktail attire. Leave it to Andy to forget to mention a dress code. Thank god your dry cleaning was in the back.

You tried to find something relatively conservative and settled on a simple satin sheath that was probably a little shorter than was appropriate but it’s not like you had a lot of options. You started to awkwardly disrobe in your front seat, shimmying out of your jeans and pulling your sweater over your head. A surprising knock on the window made you yelp while you were bent over the console with the back of your dress unzipped to grab your emergency heels.

“Ma’am, we’ve gotten some reports of an extremely attractive woman getting naked in a 2003 Acura, any chance that’s you.” A gravelly voice said behind a blinding flashlight.

You growled and opened your driver’s side door into Andy, almost making him drop his phone in the street. He let out a chuckle at your scowl as you stepped out of the car and straightened up, starting to pull the zipper of your dress up your back.

“I would’ve changed at the bar if you let me know this was a cocktail party asshole.” You snarled at him, turning to let him help you draw the zipper up the last few inches.

“Or, you would’ve gone back to your apartment to try to find something else to wear, and I would’ve been stuck listening to professor McDrones-A-lot talk about torts for god knows how long.”

“Aww, are your new coworkers boring, babe?” You teased him as he wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you inside.

“God, they’re so fucking boring.” He murmured into your hair before turning to introduce you to some ancient man with elbow patches. “Professor Donaldson, this is Y/N.” He said, throwing you a wink. “She was just telling me how interested she is in tort reform.”

“Splendid! Are you a lawyer my dear?”

You shook your head and did your best to listen politely as you glared at Andy over the old man’s shoulder. He gave you a stupid grin before heading to the bar to grab the two of you some drinks.

“What the fuck are you doing here, sweetheart?”

You cursed under your breath and turned to glare at Neal Logiudice, the absolute last person you wanted to see.

“Hello Neal.” You grumbled.

“Get out of here, Wally.” He said, dismissing the professor he had very rudely interrupted. “Go find some other asshole to bother.”

The old man just huffed and gave you a sympathetic pat on the arm as he hobbled away.

“That was rude.” You said, your eyes roaming the room in search of Andy. You didn’t feel like dealing with Neal’s bullshit tonight. “Why are you here Neal? I thought this was a faculty only event.”

“Alumni are invited too. And you still haven’t told me what you’re doing here.” He growled, stepping closer and invading your bubble. “Cuz you’re definitely not alumni or faculty. You work your way through all the lawyer dick at your bar and come looking for more?”

“Lovely.” You said dryly, frowning at the smell of whiskey that enveloped the man. “You’re drunk.”

You felt a warm hand on your shoulder and turned your head just enough to see Andy scowling behnd you. He slotted himself beside you and wrapped his arm around you in a protective embrace as he and Neal stared each other down.

“Logiudice.” He said menacingly, and you rolled your eyes as the levels of testosterone in the room shot up suddenly.

“Barber.” The giant said with a sneer. “I see you’ve moved on to the leftover dregs of the Newton law community. I hear that pussy’s had every defense attorney cock in town.”

Andy let out an absolutely feral growl and you just managed to hold him back as you glared at Neal.

“Jesus, Neal. Glad to see you’re not bitter.” You said with little humor as your arm strained against Andy’s chest.

“No bitterness here, sweetheart. Just waiting for you to work your way to me.” He leered at you, giving you a lascivious wink.

You let out a sigh as you started to shove Andy away from the idiot, grateful for all your experience manhandling drunks as he fought against you every step of the way.

“He’s not worth it, baby.” You murmured once you had achieved a good amount of distance, your hands smoothing his jacket over his chest in a soothing gesture as Neal let out a guffaw behind you.

“I dunno, I kinda feel like punching him in the face is definitely worth it, sweetheart.” Andy said as he took some deep breaths and turned his gaze back to you.

“Maybe not at your first event for your new job though.” You teased him, tugging softly on his beard and making him grin at you. “Where’s my fucking drink?”

“Shit, I got distracted. I’ll be right back.” He said apologetically, starting to turn away from you.

“Oh no, you are not leaving me by myself again. All I need is to get cornered by some crazy professor who wants to tell me all about bird law.” You said as you tagged after him, the two of you weaving your way through the partygoers as you made your way to the bar.

“What the fuck is ‘bird law’?” He beamed at you after ordering your drinks, leaning against the bar and cocking one eyebrow at you.

“Jesus, I think you might be too classy for me, Barber.” You teased. “We’ve gotta work on your pop culture references.”

The two of you managed to have a relatively pleasant evening, even though you had no idea what anyone was talking about most of the time. But you loved watching how relaxed Andy was around you, and how passionate he got whenever he started to debate with one of his new colleagues. He was in the middle of a particularly heated discussion about the evolution of laws regarding sovereign immunity when he noticed you gazing at him, and his face broke out in a grin.

“You’ll have to excuse me, guys, I didn’t realize how late it’s gotten and I worry I’ve been neglecting my date. Let’s continue this on Monday?”

He made his way through the party, saying some quick goodbyes as his hand rested on your lower back. You let out a soft moan when you reached the foyer and he pressed you into the wall, his lips brushing against yours before he broke away to find his coat.

He returned after a few minutes and wrapped his arms around your waist, his mouth moving against yours hungrily as he guided you out the door.

“Jesus, Andy!” You whined when he lifted you slightly as the two of you made your way to his Range Rover. You bent your knees so your toes wouldn’t drag along the pavement.

“I dunno what you expected when you were looking at me like that, sweetheart.” He teased as he wrapped one arm around you tightly and brought his other hand to fumble through his coat pockets in search of his keys.

“I couldn’t help it.” You murmured in his ear as he pressed you against the driver’s side door, working to open the door to the back seat. “All that law talk does things to me.”

“Yeah?” He muttered around a grin, finally getting the door open and setting you down across the back seat. “You didn’t find it boring?”

“Not when it was you, Professor Barber.” You said in a husky voice, winking at him as he climbed on top of you and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Fuck honey.” He growled as he tossed his coat in the front seat before burying his face in your neck. “You’re gonna need to call me professor more often.”

“Mmm, professor.” You hummed as he ran his teeth over your throat before sucking a bruise over your collarbone. “I had some questions about affidavits I was hoping you could help me with.”

He gave a dark chuckle against your chest as his mouth kept moving lower, his lips brushing over the swell of your breasts as his hands moved under your back to unzip your dress. Once he had it open he yanked it off you and tossed it aside, bending over you again to nip at your skin as you dragged his suit jacket off over his shoulders.

“Why do I feel like you just want to hear me say affidavits?” He teased as you drew his tie off and started to work on his shirt buttons. He wrapped your thighs around his hips and ground himself into you, making you whimper as a fresh rush of arousal flooded your panties.

“Fuck, say more lawyer words, professor.” You whined as he drew the straps of your bra down your shoulders, drawing your breasts out of the soft lace and wrapping his lips around one of your nipples.

“Amicus brief.” He teased as his tongue laved over your nipple and you felt your pussy clench around nothing.

He moved to give your other breast the same soft attention as you worked on undoing his belt, your breath coming in shallow gasps as he worked you over. You finally drew his belt off and he sat up to remove his slacks, his lust blown eyes never leaving yours as he dragged his pants and boxer briefs down over his legs, tossing them on top of the rest of his clothes in the front seat as his cock bounced up against his abs, making your mouth fill with saliva at the sight.

You didn’t give him a chance to dive on top of you again, instead climbing into his lap as he knelt there and sucking his lower lip into your mouth. He groaned against your lips as you brought a hand down to wrap around his dick. You dragged his length through the slick that had soaked your thighs before shoving your panties aside and guiding him to your entrance.

Andy let out a deep sigh as you sank onto him, taking his full length in one smooth motion until he was fully seated in you. His tongue pressed between your lips and curved against yours as you wrapped one hand around his neck and the other around his bicep.

“You’re so goddamn perfect, baby.” He muttered against your lips as he started moving his hips at a languorous pace. “So fucking warm and wet for me.”

“Mmm, Andy.” You moaned as you nipped at his lips softly. “I love having you inside me.”

“Yeah, pretty girl?” He murmured as he started to move a little faster. “You love feeling my big cock in that tight little pussy?”

“Fuck, I need this cock, baby.” You hissed, resting your forehead against his and staring into his eyes. “Nobody fucks me like you do.”

“Shit. You’re squeezing me so good, honey.” He muttered as he ground against you. “I wanna feel you cum on my cock.”

“Fuck, I’m so close, Andy.” You whined as his hips thrust against you even harder. “God, right there. I’m gonna cum”

“Do it, I wanna see that cream all over my dick.” He buried his face in your neck and gave one last violent push of his hips.

You let out a cry as every muscle in your body went rigid, your fingers digging painfully into his neck and shoulders. Your pussy clenched around him for a beat before fluttering in your release as your torso rolled against his and a wave of intense pleasure washed over you.

“Jesus, baby.” He murmured as you came down, straightening his legs one at a time as he held you to him tightly.

You were still kneeling and the new angle had him hitting you even deeper than before, making stars burst behind your closed eyelids. Andy bent his knees slight behind you and leaned you back to rest against them as he moved his mouth to your breasts, making you whimper as his tongue brushed against your nipple.

“God, I could spend all night like this.” He murmured as he started pulling you down to him over and over, making you devolve into a mewling, whimpering mess. “My face buried in these perfect tits and my cock buried in that perfect pussy.”

You felt yourself clench around him at the praise and dug both hands in the hair at the base of his skull, pressing his mouth to your chest as you arched into him. His cock twitched inside you in response as he let out a deep groan, his hips meeting yours desperately.

“I’m gonna cum again, shit. You close, baby?” You felt him nodding between your breasts as his hips stuttered. “Fuck, I wanna feel it fill me up. I love when your cum inside me.”

“Goddamn it.” He hissed, and that was it for both of you.

Your knees squeezed his hips painfully as you tugged at his hair, a moan coming from deep in your chest as your orgasm ripped through you. Your cunt fluttered uncontrollably as your muscles spasmed around him, milking his cock for everything he could give you. He shouted your name against your chest and dug his fingers into your waist as his spend filled you up, painting your velvety walls in hot ropes that mixed with your own release and seeped over your thighs in a thick mess.

He collapsed back against the seat with a groan, taking you with him as he still held you tightly. You nuzzled into his neck as aftershocks still shook through you, your pussy clenching around his softening cock at random intervals.

“Well, fuck me Professor Barber.” You teased as he buried his face in your hair.

He let out a groan and grinned at you as he brought his face to meet yours, his tongue slipping between your lips as he kissed you deeply.

“God, I fucking love you.” He whispered without thought as his hands ran over your spine. His hands stopped suddenly as he realized what he’d said and his held his breath as he waited for your reply.

You just buried your face in his chest hair and sighed before whispering “Love you too, Andy.”

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lavenderwhore444 · 3 years

Note

Alright let’s talk about smell dick shigaraki BEFORE U JUDGE JUST HEAR ME OUT,shigaraki having a crush on u (of course) been wanting to be with u but he was too ashamed and embarrassed of his tiny dick, he thinks he never has a chance with u so he gives up, meanwhile u were dying for him to make the first move u end up asking him out, he couldn’t believe it of course he said yes forgetting all about his insecurities,everything went well now ya’ll are making out shit got heated, as u were trying to take his pants off, he started making excuses basically on the verge of tears, u finelly convinced him (ngl u kind of forced him) he started crying, truth be told u never cared about size in all honesty u liked pegging more so it didn’t really matter and u always found shigaraki beautiful, meanwhile shigaraki was having a full on mental down he started to get up since he knows u wouldn’t like him, until u pulled him and pinned him to the bed and pulled ur 11 inche strap on.

Kink pegging, god I love seeing shigaraki crying wtf is wrong with me- anyways I can’t think of anything, dont forget to drink water and get plenty of rest

-🤡

At first, I was like, ‘mmm small dick Shigaraki,’ as a joke, but bro...I don’t think it’s a joke anymore.

Ok, so y/n’s quirk is a shallow mind-reading quirk. She doesn't know your thoughts, but she does know your urges.

I have loved small dick shiggy for as long as I can remember. He acts all tough just to have this tiny little cock in his pants while he gets all embarrassed maybe even feels like less of a man because society equates having a large dick to being a “real man.”

But u love him and think it’s so cute—little dick for mommy’s little boy.

If you see my writing style change during the smut it's because I either a). Put on a seggsy playlist. Or b). I definitely did not listen to an asmr thing.

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‘So pretty,’ Shigaraki thought, drinking you in, ‘god I wish you were mine, y/n,’

You were sat at the table with most of the league playing Uno with dabi.

“Draw four motherfucker, ” you said, slamming the card down.

He cursed under his breath, “fucking bitch, ”

As he picked up his cards, Dabi questioned why he decided to put himself through this bullshit, why did he choose to suffer? You always beat his ass.

He put down a card, watching you slap down your next card.

“Uno, ” you said with a shit-eating grin on your face.

You giggled at the look of absolute rage on his face. He slammed down his card, and you put your last one down.

“Well, Dabi, I win again, ” you said.

You lifted his chin so he could look at the face of his superior.

“Another round?” you offered.

“Only if you'll make a bet, ” he said.

At the end of the last game, he had noticed the new mirror Kurogiri hung showed your hand.

He stood up and announced to the room, “if I win this game, y/n has to ask out her crush,”

“Hey, who said I had a crush on anyone?” you objected.

“Your texts with Toga, ” he grinned, “but that's beside the point. If you win, I’ll do whatever you want for a week, ”

“Oh, it is on, ” you grinned, “you wanna shuffle the cards?”

He smirked, “doesn't matter to me, go ahead, ”

You shuffled the deck. There was no need for your tricks this round. Dabi’s tricks, however, left you baffled at the outcome of the game.

“I lost?” you whispered in disbelief.

“What are you waiting for, y/n?” Dabi said.

He pulled your chair out and nearly tipped you out of it.

“Dont be shy, ” Dabi whispered, leaning in.

Well, this was it. You had hoped and prayed Shigaraki would make the first move, but you were forced to confront him. You sidestepped dabi much to his confusion and sat next to Shigaraki at the bar.

“Need liquid courage?” he asked, unphased by the whole ordeal.

He hadn't even bothered to get his hopes up.

“No, I'm um here to ask you out, ” you said, looking down, “sorry this is so awkward, I'll just go now, ”

You got up, but he pulled you back onto the chair.

“I’d love to go out with you y/n, ” he said calmly even though his heart was beating out of his chest.

“Really?” You asked.

“Really, ” he confirmed, putting four fingers on each side of your waist.

He leaned in a little, father absent from his face. Your breathing picked up as you followed his lead, brushing your lips against his. For a minute, you had forgotten the whole room was watching in anticipation until they began to cheer. You sighed and tugged him upstairs.

“I don't need them staring at us, ” you said, sitting down on your bed.

“I totally agree, ” Shigaraki said, moving closer to you.

You couldn't help the blush that grew on your cheeks as he slung his arm around your shoulders.

“You're so cute, ” he said, turning your face towards his.

He pressed his lips against your lips. They were perfect though a little chapped from the cold winter weather. You kissed him back eagerly, gripping his hair with your hands. Your fingers slipped through his soft blue hair. He pulled away smiling and pressed his forehead to yours.

“You need to move the mirror downstairs, ” he said, “dabi could see your hand the entire time, ”

“That bitch, ” you muttered.

He chuckled, "I'm glad we're on the same page,"

He pressed another kiss to your lips, slow and steady. You couldn't help but feel a small need inside of you begin to grow. Obviously, you pushed it back down. You didn't want to pressure him so early on. As you spent more time with him, you couldn't help but get more and more turned on by him. You couldn't stop staring at the way the veins in his neck reached down to the slope of his shoulders and disappeared. His sharp jawline made your heart flutter when he turned his head to the side.

The next time you got him alone, you couldn't keep your hands off of him.

"mmph- y/n hold on," he laughed.

You pressed wet, hot kisses to Shigaraki's neck, and he threaded his hands through your hair. You tapped into your quirk, and it seemed he was practically screaming for you to fuck him, but he wasn't hard? You worked harder, pinching and twisting his nipples under his shirt. He was moaning and groaning, but nothing was poking your leg.

"Hey, Tomura, I can tell you want this, but you're not hard," you said, "is there, um, something else I should be doing?"

"no, y/n it's fine don't worry about it," he stammered, "we can go watch a movie or-"

You pushed him down on the bed, getting on top of him.

"Just lemme work my magic, baby," you shushed.

"um, babe, it's just. I-I don't know," he said.

He felt so exposed with his shirt off but taking his pants off? He didn't know if he could do it.

"y/n I-"

"shh," you said, "just lemme help,"

He began to panic as you pulled at the waistband of his pants, but his need outshined his growing fear stopping you from picking up on it. To his dismay, you pulled down his pants and boxers all in one go. He felt the cold air hit his cock, and he began to cry. Shigaraki felt so embarrassed. Why him? Why couldn't he have a body like everyone else's? Why couldn't he be enough for you? He got up, not saying a word until you pulled him back down onto the bed.

"I'm sorry," he sobbed, "I just- I want to be enough for you, but I'm just not,"

You held him, stroking his hair.

"You're more than enough for me. I'll always think you're beautiful," you said, "I don't care about bullshit like that. In fact, I have something better,"

You rifled through the drawer as he wiped away his tears. You pulled out a large strap-on and a bottle of lube. His eyes widened, and his cock twitched (as best it could). You giggled when you saw.

"someone's excited," you teased.

He blushed and nodded, "it um looks good,"

You smeared lube all over it and your fingers.

"Spread your legs, sweetie," you urged.

He did so gladly, exposing himself to you.

"fuck," you muttered under your breath.

He was so fucking gorgeous.

You pushed a finger into him as quickly as you could watching him gasp as his asshole clenched.

“You're very sensitive, ” you observed.

He blushed and pressed the side of his head into the pillow as he was still lying on his back. You guided his face, so he was looking at you.

“I want to see you, Tomura, if that's alright, ” you said.

He nodded once, “I’m okay with that y/n, ”

You smiled and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“You’re being a very good boy Tomura, ” you praised, “my good boy, ”

You started moving the finger again, circling and stretching his tight hole. He whimpered as you pushed in another finger. Despite feeling good, the experience was still a bit uncomfortable. Tomura bucked into your hand once he was used to the sensation. You watched in amazement as he acclimated so quickly; he was excellent at everything he did. How could one man be so perfect?

“More, ” he whispered, “please y/n. Give me more, ”

You kissed him much harder than before.

“Anything for you, ” you promise as you add in a third finger.

He squirmed and moaned while you prepared him. Your other hand grabbed the dripping toy. You pulled out your fingers, and he gulped.

‘How is that supposed to fit inside of me?’

You put it in inch by inch as he gasped and groaned.

“It feels s-so good y/n, ” he gasped.

You were only halfway in, and he was already losing his mind. His small cock was producing what seemed like a constant stream of pre-cum. Three-fourths of the way in, he started to struggle to accommodate the large toy. But he took a deep breath and let you push the rest inside. Once it's in all the way, he couldn't help but cry. It hurts.

“Take deep breathes for me, ” you said as you cupped your lover's face and left soft kisses all over.

He shook his head, “can’t. it h-hurts y/n, ”

You held him, kissing his forehead.

“It's okay, sweetie,” you shushed, “it's gonna be okay. You just have to hold on a little longer for me, ”

“I can't, ” he sobbed, “I can’t, ”

“Just one more minute Tomu. It’s gonna feel so good, ” you promised.

Shigaraki couldn't stop crying. He felt so full. Too full. You took his cock between two fingers and “stroked” it gently. He gasped and moaned so loud it reverberated throughout the room. You finally slid the strap onto your hips. You held it in your hands for most of the time, having much more control of your hands compared to your hips.

You rocked your hips gently. Slowly, not pulling out in the least. Tomura was clenching to the point of holding you like a vice. You moaned at the reaction. Even though you weren't being touched, watching your beautiful boyfriend come undone was enough for you. You let go of his cock, watching him squirm again.

“No, ” he moaned, “please don’t stop, ”

“I don't want you to cum too quickly, sweetie. This is your first time, after all, ” you teased.

He whined, “can you at least go faster y/n? Please?”

You picked up the pace without a word. Shigaraki wrapped his arms around your neck and pulled you down, so your chest was rubbing against his. Every time your shirt rubbed against his nipples, he let out a high-pitched moan. Your new angle hit his prostate head-on. His hands dug into your shoulders. If you weren't immune to his quirk, you'd be screwed.

“Y/n, ” he drooled, “fucking kiss me, ”

You were on him immediately, shoving your tongue deep into his mouth. He pulled at you hair.

“Y/n, ” he moaned into your mouth, “so good, ”

You sped up, and he yelped into your mouth. He was gasping for air even when you pulled away. You felt every part of him tense before his small cock shot out a surprisingly large amount of cum. Shigaraki was blissed out. Every part of him screamed to sleep, but he pulled you over him and yanked your hips down onto his face.

He licked and sucked, slobbering all over your pussy.

“Such a messy cunt, ” he groaned, diving back in, “all for me, ”

You collapsed onto his face, nearly suffocating his with your thighs (don't worry, he loved every second of it) before rocking back and forth on his face.

“Yes, ” you moaned, “god yes, Tomura, you're so good. I love it. I fucking love it. You're such a good boy. My good boy, ”

Shigaraki moaned into you at the praise, licking and sucking until you gushed into his mouth and all over his face. You collapsed next to him.

“Fuck, ” you gasped, “that was amazing, Shig, ”

You giggled and pulled him into your chest.

“That was so amazing, ” you praised again.

He wrapped his arms around you and muttered something incoherent before passing out immediately.

#tomura fluff #tomura smut #tenko smut #tomura x reader #mha tomura #tomura imagine #shigaraki tenko #tomura shiragaki #tomurashigaraki #shigaraki tomura #shigaraki fluff #shigaraki smut #mha shigaraki #shigaraki x reader

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pascalpanic · 3 years

Text

Caffeine Rush: Chapter Four / Irish Coffee

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!Reader

W/C: 3k

Warnings: alcohol, language, sexual harassment, physical fighting, Javi is a legend for this chapter/next lmao, reader wears makeup and heels but clothing is otherwise not described

A/N: HI I’m gonna forgo summaries for this series from now on, if anyone has an issue with that pls lmk and we can go back to it, I’m just sick of using like the same summary lmao! Hope you guys like it, idk when chapter 5 will come but somewhat soon!

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Irish coffee: a cocktail consisting of hot coffee, Irish whiskey, and sugar, stirred, and topped with cream. The coffee is drunk through the cream.

Four nights after you first kissed Javier, and now many kisses later, Javier insists he take you to the one place he knows in D.C.: a nice bar in the downtown area. You’d spent the days visiting museums and monuments, giving him a tour of the Georgetown campus too. He’d hum along to the radio in your shitty car while you drove place to place. He surprised you with how much modern music he knew.

If the past four days have been getting to know Javier, privately becoming acquainted with each other’s minds and lips, tonight is some kind of grand exposition. Your brief whirlwind of a romance has been contained to your coffee shop and small restaurants off the beaten path. Javier is a well-connected man; he’s sure to know people downtown. From what he’s explained to you, he’s somewhat of a powerhouse in the DEA. Everyone downtown knows a version of the man, who goes by Agent Peña, but all you know is your Javi, your Javi who kisses you goodnight after buying you cupcakes, who drinks your peppermint mochas like it’s the nectar of the gods.

So, it’s safe to say you’re nervous. If he’s bringing you somewhere where he will know people, which he offhandedly told you, you’re going to be the living legend’s date for the night. As you stare into the mirror, your brow furrows in concentration, drawing a line across your eyelid with a pencil of kohl, your phone rings on the vanity in front of you. It makes you jump and the eye pencil drag upwards across your eyelid- most definitely not where you intended it to go. “Fuck!” you shout in annoyance and toss the pencil down. When you pick up, your voice shows your frustration. “Hello?” You ask sharply.

“Hey, abejita,” a smooth voice answers: who else but Javier.

“Hi, Javi,” you sigh as you press the button, moving the call to the speakerphone. “You made me fuck up my eyeliner.”

“Sorry. Just calling to talk.”

His words make you smile and your ears feel warm as they rush with blood. You aren’t picking him up for another hour. “What, you couldn’t wait that long to talk?” You ask him, biting down on your painted lips with a smile.

“No. I’m bored and I miss you.” It’s true, he thinks to himself. He hasn’t seen you all day. After spending the last three days in nearly 24-hour contact, he misses the sound of your laughter and the way your soft lips feel pressed against his stubbled cheek.

“Well, I suppose it’s been…” you trail off as you calculate, “about 20 hours since I’ve seen you. I”m practically going through withdrawals,” you laugh, and it makes Javier’s chest warm to hear that beautiful sound, even through the tinny receiver of the hotel’s phone. “You know, if you have a cute nickname for me, I need to have something equally cute for you.”

“There’s a difference, abejita,” Javier teases, opening the hotel window to smoke out of. “You’re cute. I’m not.”

“Yes you are.”

“I am many things, little bee, but I am not cute,” Javier chuckles as he sticks the cigarette between his lips and lights it up.

“Well, I think you are,” you refute in a stubborn tone. “You bought me cupcakes on our first date. That’s cute. You come to my work and bring me treats and kiss me in front of my coworkers. That’s cute too.”

Javier shakes his head. Sure, the things could be classified as cute, he supposes, but they’re not the normal Javier. Sexy, rude, intelligent, any of those words could describe him. He’s a playboy, a heartbreaker, and all in all is, by principle, a lone wolf. Well, he was. He’s been chasing Escobar for years and years… and now he’s dead. Maybe he can allow himself to start anew, and this new beginning has to have you in it.

He takes a slow drag from the cigarette, getting lost in his own thoughts and forgetting to answer. The silence makes you suspicious. “Javi? Did I lose you?”

The words snap him back to reality. “No, I’m here. I’m sorry, I… zoned out there.”

“Good,” you smile as you wipe off the messy eyeliner and apply a new, perfectly winged layer of the dark makeup. “I suppose I’ll just have to see what comes. Nicknames have to be earned, not given. Did you ever have any nicknames when you were little?” You ask as you brush a sparkling powder over your eyes.

Javier thinks for a second, almost to the point where you have to ask again if he’s there. That seems to be Javier’s biggest flaw so far. “No, not really. Sometimes the other kids would call me Peñita. Didn’t like that one,” he chuckles, and you can hear air rush past the microphone as he exhales the smoke into the ever-darkening D.C. sky. “My mom had all kinds of names for me, but they were the things you’d call a little kid.”

You nod, then realize he can’t see you and you need to speak. “That’s cute. Tell me about your parents,” you ask him as you continue to brush various makeup products across your face.

Javier shakes his head. “That’s more of an over-drinks topic, I think.”

“When have you ever held back information from me?” You scoff lightly, as if you’ve known him a thousand years. It hits you as you say it, the whirlwind this entire thing has been. You’ve known Javier for five days, and he’s already everything to you. And he’s going back to Colombia in 3 weeks. It makes your heart sink in your chest, and anxiety creeps in, the realization that he might not be falling as quickly as you are. Maybe it’s time to pull back a little, you tell yourself. He won’t be here long.

“Ha,” he says dryly and takes another drag from his cigarette. “Well, I’m ready when you are, if you want to come get me a little earlier.”

His emotionless tone makes you panic. You wonder if you just went somewhere you shouldn’t have by asking about his parents, if you’ve just crossed some line you didn’t know existed. You desperately want to ask him, to reassure yourself and get rid of the worry slowly collecting in your gut, but you don’t. You can’t. You shouldn’t. “I’m still getting ready,” you tell him, and it’s truthful. “I’ll be there at 7, like we said. Is that alright?” you ask.

Javier blows a breath of smoke into the night, the cloud of smoke mingling with the heat puff of his breath. “Sounds good to me. I’ll leave you alone to get ready,” he tells you with a small smile.

“Alright. I’ll see you then. You’re wearing something nice, right?” You clarify one last time.

“Whatever you wear will be beautiful on you. Don’t worry about it.” Javier, ever the king of flattery, looks down and appraises his own outfit. “But yes, I’m wearing something nice.”

You smile at the reassurance, looking down at the swirling colors of your makeup palette. “Well, thank you. I’ll see you in a bit.” -

You have to say you’re surprised at the level of refinement of the hotel. You’d expected the DEA would’ve put Javier at some shitty little hotel, but it’s surprisingly nice. You remember a few days ago, the sheer terror masked behind a stoic face, but you chuckle as you consider that this famed agent had very few context clue skills. This hotel is nice, a couple of stars at least. Why would they put him here if they were firing him?

Javier stubs out his cigarette in an ashtray when he sees your car approaching, straightening his sport coat. You hold back a grin as he walks over, but the fighting ends when you see him smile as he opens the door and slides in.

“Hi,” you beam at him, and he leans across the center console, stealing a kiss.

“Hey.” He sneaks one more kiss, one that lasts a little longer and dares to use a bit of tongue. He only breaks away when you do with a laugh.

“My foot is on the brake right now; be careful but kiss me one more time,” you ask of him with a grin, and he happily complies, cupping your face and kissing you. When he breaks away, your eyes open slowly and you can’t hold in your happiness. “Alright, now we’re going. You’ll have to guide me,” you tell him, and he nods.

“Sure. You’re just going to go out of here and onto that street to the right,” he says and points the way for you.

Your car follows the path, nodding along to Javier’s instructions. “Jesus, that’s a fancy place. How much does that hotel cost a night?” You marvel as you stare at the gorgeous building in your rearview mirror.

Javier shrugs. “I’m about to find out. They’re only paying for a few nights for me, then I’m on my own. I’m guessing it isn’t cheap,” he chuckles as he looks over his shoulder. “Or I might switch hotels. Don’t know yet.”

Frowning, you take a turn he’d earlier instructed you to follow. The hotel fades from sight, the dark blue of the December night filling your rearview instead. “Well, I know of a place you could stay for way cheaper.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, adjusting in his seat to face toward you more. “What is that, pretty thing?” He asks, a hand resting on your thigh.

“Stop,” you giggle and rest one hand atop of his. His fingers are much larger than yours, a fact that makes you shudder as his fingertips find bare skin there. “Pretty thing? That’s weak,” you tease, and Javier just rolls his eyes. “I was going to say you could stay with me, but now I’m not sure,” you say teasingly, eyes locked on the road and most certainly off of Javier.

His brow furrows. “Well, I can pay you then.”

You shake your head. “Javi. We’re dating… aren’t we?” You ask, the hesitancy creeping into your voice. Now that you say it aloud, you’re not entirely sure that you are. “I mean, I don’t know, I just kind of thought,” you stumble over your speech, word-vomiting out whatever you can to backtrack.

The man next to you tilts his head, but he nods. “I… I haven’t dated anyone in a long time,” he admits, his fingers starting to slowly grip your thigh rather than rest atop it. “Is this what dating is like to you?”

You nod too, knowing he’s watching you, staring down at the steering wheel. “I… yeah?”

A small smile cracks on his face, making the mustache there twitch softly. “Then I guess I’d say we’re dating. But that doesn’t matter, I don’t want to live in your place rent-free for three weeks.”

“It’s an extended vacation,” you chuckle and bring your hand back to the steering wheel to have two hands for a turn. “Don’t worry about it. I’d like having you around. We’ve already been together nonstop for a couple of days. What’s a little more?” You ask as you look over at him, seeing his eyes soften and his forehead relax from its tightened state. “And besides, any hotel is going to be painfully expensive right now. D.C. during the holidays makes the hotel rates skyrocket.”

He nods as you speak, processing the idea. “Well, do you have a guest room? I don’t want to invade your space, I can sleep on the couch if you don’t, or I can stay in a hotel.”

“Javier,” you chuckle, putting your own hand on his thigh to reassure him. “We’re not moving in together permanently. You’ll stay with me until you need to go back to Colombia, and that’s that.” Your mind has been made up. He can’t argue it, and he knows it from the firmness in your grip on his leg, in the way your body goes rigid as if the words are some formal deal that requires a handshake.

“How do you know I’m not some serial killer who does exactly this to lure you to your death?” Javier asks dryly as he looks over at you, lifting a hand to trace the side of your face slowly.

“Because you’re Javier Peña. Your name was in the newspaper next to Steve’s. You work for the DEA.”

“Some of the guys I work with could definitely be serial killers, that doesn’t discount anything,” Javier grumbles, which makes you laugh and makes him even grumpier.

“The fact that you said that to me in the first place is my proof, Javi,” you chuckle and pat his thigh softly. “I’m an excellent judge of character. I just graduated from 7 straight years of studying psychology. Remember that?” Javier’s quiet and you know you’ve won. “Then tonight we’ll get your stuff after dinner and get you settled in my place. How does that sound?”

He’s quiet again, studying your face and the way your cheeks move with your lips, the way your brows rise and fall when he’s being ridiculous. He’s just as trained as you are, with 10+ years on you to prove his competence. You like him. You might even love him already, he thinks to himself. Your pretty lips purse at his silence and he finally cracks. “That sounds great, abejita.” Javier leans across the console to kiss your cheek, which makes you shiver softly, like any touch from the man does. “Thank you.”

“Thank me by buying me some drinks, huh?” You tease, turning back to focus on the road.

The bar was nice. Really nice, you learned as you walked in. It projected the essence of Javier to you; naturally, you loved it from the moment you looked around. The room had a low ceiling and wood paneling around the walls, a floor that your short heels clacked upon as you walked to the only open stools- well, only one stool, you realized as you walked. Javier walked behind you, a hand on the small of your back, admiring your legs in the outfit you wore.

When you finally found the available spot, where you’re now sipping a drink, you’d found that there was only one stool.

“Do you want to go sit in the restaurant?” You asked Javier as you nodded with your head to the side of the establishment with tables and booths.

He shook his head and pulled out the stool. “You sit. I’ll stand.”

“Javi-”

“Just sit, abejita. I’ve been sitting all day. I can handle a little standing,” he chuckles and kisses your head, gesturing to the stool. When you sit, he smiles down at you and wraps his arms around you loosely from behind. You lean back against his strong chest.

Over the past few days, you and Javier have made infrequent contact, a hug in greeting or in goodbye and plenty of shared kisses. This, however, speaks directly to your touch-starved soul, the way his body practically encompasses you. He orders himself a whiskey and the drink you’d ordered on the first night you met him for you, then continues to stand there.

You crane your head around to look at him, smiling. “I love this place already,” you say, admiring the way you can hear over the hum of the other patrons and the quiet music playing. You’re much more accustomed to places your friends would drag you, where it was more for the cheap drinks than the atmosphere.

The crow’s feet by his eyes are more pronounced as he smiles at you, but he looks even younger as his lips curve up softly. “I’m glad you like it.”

“Shit, is that Peña?” A loud voice calls from somewhere else in the building, and Javier turns, his face falling flat then smiling as he sees the voice behind it.

“Be right back,” he murmurs and presses a kiss into the top of your head.

It’s someone he recognizes, that’s for sure, as the man and Javier wrap their arms around each other and firmly pat the other’s back. “No shit! When did you get back to D.C., man?” The other guy asks. “Escobar just died and they’re already sending you back?”

The bartender delivers your drink, and you turn your back to Javier, thanking them and sipping at your liquor. Over your shoulder, you can hear the man and Javier talk shop, about Colombia and their days as DEA trainees, about Escobar’s recent death and Javi’s recent promotion. You glance over your shoulder at him, smiling as he easily talks with the group. You’ve not had the privilege of seeing Javier with his friends- or what seem to be his friends- yet, and he seems fairly social but humble. You appreciate that.

The talking goes on for a while, and you sip at your drink and look around the bar, appreciating the wood that makes a nice noise as your fingernails tap against it rhythmically.

When your drink is about half-drained, the bartender sets another in front of you. It’s different from what you were drinking, a fluorescent neon color surely made by a mix of ridiculously fruity liqueurs. You look at the bartender with confusion and they nod to a man at the end of the bar. He’s not looking at you, which makes it all the easier to stare at the drink in confusion and disgust rather than drink it. His tie is absolutely egregious, boldly patterned in bright colors. There’s not an ounce of taste about this man.

The drink goes untouched, sitting in front of you as you study it. There seems to be layers, maybe, or maybe the mixed alcohols just congealed awkwardly. You sip your drink and then Javier’s whiskey, refusing to drink whatever fucking concotion sits in front of you.

Five or ten more minutes pass of Javier talking with his friends. You don’t mind- you know the feeling of catching up with people you haven’t seen in a long time. In that time, the drink remains untouched, and you ask the bartender for a refill of your go-to drink.

Not long after the second one arrives, you feel a hand on the curve of your back. You turn, hoping it’s Javier, and instead find it to be the man at the end of the bar who ordered you the drink: Tie Guy. Panic sets in immediately and you arch your back to dodge the hand, which only follows your spine. “Hey. Thought you’d like this drink. You tried it yet?” The man asks, voice clearly showing that he knows you haven’t.

“No,” you say with a swallow, turning away from him. “Not exactly my style.”

“I thought it was such a pretty drink for such a pretty thing.”

Pretty thing. When Javier called you that earlier, even though the name wasn’t one you liked, it was at least endearing. To hear it again, dripping with sleaze and ill intentions, you shiver and push it further away. “I’m sorry, sir, it’s not my type of drink. My boyfriend will be right back, and-” you try, hating the defense you try to pull.

“He drinks whiskey,” Tie Guy says and gestures to Javier’s ¾ full glass. “No fun. Boring. Too manly, pretentious. Real men can drink something fun like these and not need to worry about someone thinking they don’t have a set of balls,” he says and his fingers trace the rim of the martini glass the concoction sits in. Now you’re definitely not drinking it, now that he’s touched it.

“Please, I’m not interested,” you try, turning around to face the man that towers over your seated body. “I’d appreciate it if-”

“Hey,” a familiar voice- thank fuck, it’s Javier- calls from behind you. “Excuse me,” he says and pushes Tie Guy out of the way, his arm wrapping around you. It’s a relief, a grip meant entirely for comfort and not for the coercion the man across from you had tried. You melt into it instantly. “She said to back the fuck off, or could you not fucking tell?” He hisses at the man. Javier pulls away from you, stepping towards the man who instinctively steps back.

“Whiskey drinker,” the man snorts and rolls his eyes. “So manly, so over the top. Gotta let everyone know that you’re the alpha, the dominant male, huh?” He asks, getting in Javier’s face. He’s taller than your Javier, but lankier. The fact that Javier could take him crosses your mind, though you hope desperately that it doesn’t come to that.

“What I drink doesn’t fucking matter,” Javier says and shoves his chest. “What matters is that you’re fucking harassing my girlfriend. Back the fuck off,” he says and turns from the man, back to you, his hand on your upper arm. “You okay?” he asks quietly, and you respond with a nod and a forced, close-lipped smile.

“Yep, go ahead, go back to your little prude,” the man laughs drunkenly, his voice full of vitriol. “Oh, no, I bet she loves to act all shy, but then she’s a kinky little thing in bed, isn’t she?” He asks, taunting Javier. “Ties your ass up and whips you, with that sass. I wonder if she-”

The sentence isn’t finished. Javier’s fist flies through the air and connects with the man’s face, followed by a loud, ringing thud as the taller body hits the floor.

caffeine rush taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867 @greeneyedblondie44 @hunnambabe @astoryisaloveaffair @emesispo @pedritobalmando @magikfanatic @yooforia @oceanablue @sara-alonso @pedrosmustache @feelingmadclever @hnt-escape @radiowallet @obsessivelysearching @sugarontherims @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @linnie0119 @1800-fight-me @autumnleaves1991-blog @toilet-keeper @evelynseventyr @metalarmsandmanbuns @shannababyy @sambucky21 @princess76179 @starless-eyes-remain @theorganasolo @jagi-yaaa @mrsparknuts @tacticalsparkles

#javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña x you #javi peña x reader #javi peña #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #narcos fanfic #narcos fanfiction #narcos #caffeine rush

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iclaimedtobethebetterbard · 3 years

Text

popcorn & pronouns

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: Janus, Remus, Roman Rating: Teen & up Relationships: Dukeceit, Creativitwins Warnings: Not much to warn for in this one. Language, a little bit of suggestiveness, vague non-detailed descriptions of a horror movie. Word count: 3402

Read on AO3!

My writing masterpost

Starlight Universe masterpost

Dukeceit Week 2021 start - previous - here - next - masterpost

Summary: A movie night date leads to an important conversation. Already being t4t makes it a lot easier. Or, in Remus's own words, “This is just, like, going to be a week of people coming out to me, I guess. Huh.”

Notes: Day 6 of Dukeceit Week 2021! Almost there! @dukeceitweek Takes place in my Starlight Universe, where each piece can be read without any context. Takes place 9 months after college; at the start of the story, Janus uses only they/them pronouns.

“Ooh, popcorn! Can I have some?” Roman popped his head into the kitchen of the apartment he, Remus, and Logan had shared in the nine or so months since they had all graduated college.

“No, Jan and I are having a date in twenty minutes,” Remus said, waving Roman off without looking away from the air popper.

“Okay, I don’t see how that’s relevant to my question.” Roman pushed himself to sit on the counter by the sink. “I mean, that’s really cute, I hope you have fun. But can I have some popcorn?”

Remus rolled his eyes. “Make your own when I’m done.”

“But you make it better!” Roman pouted overdramatically.

Remus raised an eyebrow. “All I do is plug in the machine?”

“Right, which is better than me doing it.” Roman grinned at them. “Less work for me.”

“Hey!” Remus swatted his arm. “The transphobia, honestly—”

“Well, if you making it for me is transphobic to you, then you not making it for me is—” Roman broke off quite suddenly, his expression undergoing several shifts very fast that Remus could not make sense of. Which was… unusual, to say the least. Roman was normally the one person they could always count on understanding. They didn’t like this new development one bit.

“Ro?”

“Iiiiiit’s… queerphobic to me,” Roman said at last, a worried pinch to his eyebrows. He laughed, and it almost didn’t sound forced. “So we’re at a tie, so you should just make me popcorn.”

“First of all, I’m queer too, make your own damn popcorn. Second—” Remus turned away from the popcorn machine and gave Roman his full attention, leaning back against the kitchen island and tilting his head to the side. “Do you wanna talk about whatever the fuck that was?” So far as Remus knew, Roman was bi; that was the label he’d been using for years and years, so long that it practically felt like forever. Since almost the very beginning of high school. Since before Remus had questioned their gender, even. Only last week, he’d called the light switch biphobic without hesitation when it broke.

Whatever had happened to make him so very deliberately not call himself bi just now, it was new.

Roman’s expression closed up very fast indeed, but not before Remus caught a flash of something he was almost certain was fear. “No.”

“You know it’s okay to question, right?” Remus inquired awkwardly. “No matter what specifically, and no matter what the outcome is? Yeah?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You know I’d still love you no matter what, right? Even if you were, like, a straight man—like, I would make so many jokes about not agreeing with your lifestyle, but—Ro, you know everything is always gonna be okay, right?”

Roman glared at him. “Remus, I don’t want to talk about it.” He wrinkled his nose. “And I’m definitely not straight.”

Remus blinked and raised their hands. “Alright. I didn’t mean literally straight, I just meant—you could be literally whatever, and it would be cool. That was—like—the most extreme example I could think of, you know?”

Roman let out a slight huff of laughter. “Thanks,” he said reluctantly after a pause. “It’s nothing, though.”

“Bullshit,” Remus said immediately.

“It—” Roman swallowed. “I need it to be nothing, okay?”

“If anyone’s making you feel shitty, I’ll beat them up,” Remus said immediately. “Even if it’s Patton. Just drop the names. I’ll do it. I’ll—”

“Remus, it’s fine. I want to stop fucking talking about it now!” Roman snapped.

Remus hesitated, fumbling for what to do or say next, everything about the conversation feeling just a little wrong and sideways.

Roman sighed. “Sorry.” He pushed off the counter, went to the fridge, and stared into it for a solid thirty seconds, then took a cheese stick out of the door. “I’ll make my own popcorn later,” he mumbled and retreated back to his room.

“Damn, alright,” Remus said to the empty room. “Be like that, I guess.” They flung their hands into the air and went to get the butter they’d been melting in the microwave before Roman’s appearance.

Roman would talk to them about it, whatever it was, eventually. He always did. And whatever was bugging him, Remus would figure out a way to bug it back until it stopped and Roman was all happy and bubbly again. Because that was what Remus always did. It would be fine. It was just a waiting game.

Remus sighed. He always hated waiting.

***

“Mmkay,” Remus said, when Janus had arrived, and they had worked together to move the TV out of the living room and into Remus’s room, and they had settled in on Remus’s bed—Remus sitting up against the headboard and Janus half-laying in Remus’s lap with their long thin legs stretched out along the bed and their head on his chest—and the popcorn had been set beside them where they could both reach it, and the blanket nest had been fluffed once more. “What shall we watch?”

Janus was silent for a long moment. Actually, come to think of it, they had been quiet since they’d arrived at the apartment—even more quiet than usual. But Remus was almost certain they weren’t nonverbal, seeing as they had exchanged a few fond words with him. It just hadn’t been very many words.

“Janny, baby?” Remus leaned forward, over their shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of their face.

Janus had their fingers knotted in the blanket that was spread over their lap, fidgeting with it anxiously, a thinking-hard expression on their face.

“Baby?” Remus curled one hand lightly around theirs. “You good?”

“Choices are too hard right now,” Janus said at last.

“Okay, that’s okay. Do you know what you need?”

“I want to watch a movie.” Janus frowned. “I just can’t choose.”

“Gotcha. No problem.” Remus pressed a kiss to their cheek. “I’m really good at choosing.” He threaded his fingers through Janus’s long hair, scratching soothingly at their scalp in just the way he knew they liked, and pulled up the library of movies, switching from Roman’s profile to his own.

“How’s some really cheesy horrible horror film we can make fun of sound?” he asked, scrolling with the remote and still playing with Janus’s hair with his other hand. “I know we have a bunch of those, I loved ’em when we were kids and I think they’re funny.”

“That sounds fine.” Janus nodded and relaxed a little further against Remus.

“Good.” He kissed the top of their head. “Do you need anything else?”

Janus shook their head. “I’ve just been kind of stressed lately. Work’s been shit, and all that. It’s fine. I just want to cuddle and things.”

“Ooh, ‘and things,’ I like the sound of that,” Remus teased, sliding his hand gently to their chin and drawing them to twist around far enough that he could kiss them soft and slow.

“I didn’t say what kinds of things,” Janus said innocently, their eyes still closed and so close to Remus that their lips brushed against his as they spoke. “Perhaps I could be persuaded later.”

“I’ll be sure to prepare my best arguments,” Remus said, leaning slightly up to kiss their forehead and then back down to their lips for another lazy kiss, taking his time and exploring Janus’s mouth until they sighed and melted against him.

“A compelling preview,” they murmured, their eyes still closed and the slightest smile curling at their lips.

Remus meant to make some kind of witty quip in return, really he did, but all that came out of his mouth was a quiet, awed, “Holy fuck, you’re so beautiful, Jan.”

Janus’s eyes opened and met his for a moment, soft and vulnerable, before they turned and hid their face in his neck. “Love you,” they whispered against his skin.

“Mm, I love you too,” Remus said happily, wrapping his arms securely around Janus and kissing the top of their head. “Love your pretty eyes and skin and hair and body, love how clever you are, love your scary goth clothes, love your snark, love your stims, love you—”

Janus whined wordlessly into his neck, pressing kisses to it and fisting their hands in the front of his shirt.

Remus chuckled, taking a handful of their hair and gently tugging until they looked up at him once more. “Do you want to watch a movie at all, or do you just wanna make out? Cause I’d be good with either, but if you wanna do a movie, we should get on that before we’re too distracted.”

“Oh.” Janus leaned their head back a little until it was resting against Remus’s hand. “Not that I don’t want to make out, but—”

“Nah, I gotcha. Gotta at least get through the popcorn, am I right?” Remus cast about for the remote, lost in the blanket pile, as Janus shifted about until they faced the television again.

“There it is!” Remus snatched the remote up, clicking through the library on the television until he saw the particular film he was thinking of and pulled it up. “This look good?”

“‘When moving into their new house, little do our protagonists know it is haunted by a demonic serial killer. Will they get out in time? Or will they be his next victims?’” Janus read the summary aloud. “Sounds absolutely thrilling. Extremely original. Love the bad Photoshop on the cover. I’m sure the acting will be of the highest quality.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s so shitty, I love it. So many cheesy effects and fake blood, it’s the actual stupidest shit,” Remus assured them. “I love it, though. Went as the demon thing for Halloween when I was nine. Nobody fucking knew what I was, but I had the time of my life. And got fake blood on Roman when he wasn’t looking. It was great.”

Janus chuckled, reaching up to brush their fingertips against Remus’s cheek. “Well, with such a glowing review from someone so attractive, how can I resist?” they said fondly.

“That’s the spirit!” Remus hit play.

Remus had watched this particular movie more times than they could count over the course of their childhood. He peppered commentary throughout the film:

“This is my favorite part, if you pay attention you can see her real fingertips holding onto the fake hand she’s about to get chopped off!”

“There’s a jumpscare in this scene, I know you hate those—okay, hit the skip-ten-seconds button in three, two, there. Perfect. Dumbass demon movie can’t even trust itself to be creepy without cheap scares.”

“Look, I know the mom is supposed to have some kind of hot blonde thing going on for the horny straight men in the audience, but she’s got nothing on you.”

“For some reason they made a director’s commentary and it actually includes the fake blood recipe they used, I’ll show you sometime!”

Janus, in turn, provided brilliant, extremely snarky roasts, mostly of either the actors’ absolute lack of skill or the gaping plot holes:

“Oh, yes, going alone to the attic at midnight without so much as a candle is a fantastic idea, nothing bad could possibly happen in this scene.”

“Listen, I can excuse the children because they’re about eight years old, but do you think this man has ever even heard of acting? Or even, like, speaking in a non-monotone?”

“I am truly fascinated by the special effects department’s understanding of human anatomy.”

“So, the demon feeds on misery? Why hasn’t it taken up residence in a large office building? I mean, come on, hundreds of souls in an environment designed to grind out constant levels of misery? It’s perfect. The poor thing must be starving out here in the two-point-five-kids-and-a-dog suburbs, every meal it gets is tiny. I would be so much better at its job than it is.”

At last the credits rolled.

“Wanna see pictures of the costume I made?” Remus asked.

“Sure.” Janus sounded amused.

“Lemme just—” Remus scrolled through their camera roll for a minute. “Oh, here they are.” They displayed their phone to Janus; tiny nine-year-old Remus, who sported long tangled brown hair in two ponytails, was draped in a black curtain, donated by his great-aunt, that he had very enthusiastically taken a pair of scissors to to create a tattered effect; the curtain was splattered with bright red goo, and tiny Remus had a pair of plastic knives in his hands, which were blurry in almost every photo because they’d hardly stopped making stabbing motions all evening. To their right, their little sister Gabby, who’d been six at the time, was dressed as Elastigirl and making a punching motion; to their right, Roman—who had already been a full three inches taller than Remus, even at nine—was wearing a Belle dress with a poofy skirt and a sword strapped around his waist and a huge smile that was missing one front tooth.

Remus swiped through the photos; a delightful scene unfolded, as tiny Remus posed for a few pictures, then in one was blurrily turning towards Roman, then dumping something on him, then Roman was screaming and Remus was laughing as red goo dripped down the poofy yellow skirt; Gabby watched with both hands clapped over her mouth, eyes huge.

“You two really have not changed at all, have you?” Janus asked, stifling laughter.

“Absolutely not,” Remus agreed with an answering laugh. “I think the most that either of us ever changed was when I chopped off all that hair and dyed it green.”

“When was that?” Janus asked.

“Sophomore year of high school. I did not have permission to chop it all off, but I did get permission to dye it afterwards, so that was pretty sick.”

“And that didn’t go against dress code?” Janus inquired.

“No, actually. Not sure how. But I bet my parents would’ve kicked up a big stink about it if the school tried and made me change it; they were always super big on self expression and shit.” Remus gestured towards the picture, indicating tiny Roman in his princess dress. “We always got to wear whatever we wanted, and shit like that. It was nice. Made gender shit way easier when that became a thing for me, you know?”

“It sounds nice,” Janus said softly. “I’m happy you had that.”

Remus nodded and pressed a kiss to their forehead, reaching for a handful of the popcorn dregs in the bottom of the bowl.

Janus shifted in their arms, rolling over to face Remus and propping themself up on their elbows. “Actually,” they began.

Something on their face told Remus that whatever this new topic of conversation was, it was important. He swallowed the half-chewed popcorn in his mouth. “Yeah, baby?”

“Speaking of gender.” Janus picked at the edge of the blanket.

“I love speaking of that, go on.” Remus tousled Janus’s hair fondly.

Janus took a deep breath, staring at the blanket in their hands. “I want to start using he pronouns again. In addition to my regular ones. Or.” They wrinkled their nose. “My current ones, I guess. So, he/they.”

“That’s great, he/they pronouns are very sexy,” Remus said at once.

Janus laughed, looking up at him at last. “That’s true, you are the sexiest person I know,” he said fondly. A shadow passed over his features. “But,” he went on slowly, chewing on the inside of their lip and picking at the blanket once more.

“Yeah?” Remus encouraged.

“I really don’t like the idea of telling anyone else about that.” Janus grimaced. “I keep worrying I’ll get asked stupid questions about ‘oh, so are you a man again now?’ when—like—no, and I never was one in the first place. So.”

“Oh, that sounds gross,” Remus agreed at once. “I can see why you’d be worried about that.”

Janus nodded. “I just—I don’t want to explain. And I don’t want people to ask questions. And they might. And I just—I don't want any of it. I want to skip to the part where they know and it’s all how I want it to be.”

“That’s reasonable,” Remus agreed. “But, I mean, if they can get me using he/they pronouns and being nonbinary, they had better fucking wrap their minds around the concept of you doing it too. Yeah? Or I’ll make ’em. Violently, if you want.”

Janus snorted. “I appreciate the offer, darling.” They reached up and touched his cheek. “I… don’t know if I want to tell anyone else yet. But I did want to tell you.”

“You got it, cutie.” Remus booped Janus’s nose once. “Just let me know if anything changes. I’ll punch people for you. Anytime. They don’t even have to have done anything. Just point me at them and consider it done.”

Janus did laugh at that, outright, scrunching up his face and burying it in Remus’s chest. “I should not be this into you offering to punch people for me,” he said wryly.

Remus grinned and flipped their hair. “Nah, I think it’s definitely very sexy of me and should absolutely turn you on.”

Janus smacked Remus’s arm. “I did not say that!”

“You implied it.”

“Not… necessarily. That was one possible interpretation—”

“Oh, right, I see, mmhm, very interesting.”

They smacked his arm again. “You’re teasing me.”

“Only a little bit. You’re so pretty when you get all flustered.” Remus bent their head at a somewhat awkward angle to kiss Janus’s lips gently. “Are there any new words you want me to use, by the way?” they asked. “Besides updating pronouns?”

Janus tilted his head to the side, considering. “I think… I still like all the sorts of things you call me already. Pretty, and partner, and—and baby, and so on.”

Remus smirked. “That’s good, I like calling you baby.”

“Oh my god, shut up.” Janus hid their face in their hands.

“Why, baby?” Remus asked innocently.

Janus made a strangled noise, and after a pause carried on. “I do think I wouldn’t mind adding a little bit of… masc terminology? I guess? If that makes sense? Adding that into the mix. Not all the time, and not as much as the things you already call me, but… just a bit would be nice.”

“Gotcha.” Remus nodded. “I can do that. So, like, my baby is very pretty and handsome?”

Janus’s cheeks went bright red in an instant, and he hid his face in Remus’s chest again, letting out a tiny wordless scream. “Yes. That. That—that’s nice,” they managed after a pause, sounding almost entirely composed.

Remus chuckled and ran their fingers through Janus’s hair. “Good to know,” he said teasingly. “I will definitely keep this in mind.”

“Oh my god,” Janus mumbled. “Are you trying to kill me?”

“Absolutely, but only in a sexy way of making you happy.” Remus kissed the top of their head. “This is just, like, going to be a week of people coming out to me, I guess,” they mused. “Huh.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh, something’s clearly eating at someone else we know, and I think they’re going to tell me about whatever it is within the week. That’s all. It was just funny timing.” Remus kissed the top of Janus’s head again. “So, the movie’s over,” they noted, which, sure, was a blatant and deliberate change of subject, but he felt this was justified, both for avoiding-speculating-about-Roman’s-personal-information purposes and, more importantly, for fun-after-movie-things purposes.

“That it is,” Janus said, a particular innocent tone entering their voice. Excellent, he was of a similar mind to Remus, then.

Remus grinned and drew them up for a kiss. “So, what does the very pretty and handsome and lovely human in my arms want to do now?” he inquired.

Janus made another small, wordless, flustered noise and promptly dragged Remus into another kiss. “You can’t just say things like that!”

“What, about how you’re the loveliest—prettiest—sexiest—” Remus pressed tiny kisses to Janus’s lips with each word, until at last they caught his lips with their own in a proper kiss to shut him up. “Pretty sure I can say it, actually,” Remus murmured against his lips. “Cause it’s true.”

“Oh, like you’re one to talk,” Janus said, sounding very pleased indeed, and kissed them again.

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): @theimprobabledreamersworld @peruviandesertfox

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mandoalorian · 3 years

Note

Rach could you please do something soft like it’s maxwells birthday and you and alastair plan a small birthday party ( just the three of you) and he is so overwhelmed with love he can’t believe he got so lucky after everything ❤️ then you tell him you’re pregnant.

Also no pressure to write you can totally ignore this 😊

Birthday Surprise [Maxwell Lord x F!Reader]

Warnings: pregnancy, allusions to sex, food mention, mention of infidelity/cheating, mention of poverty

Word Count: 3200>

A/N: It’s April 1st which means it’s officially Max Lord’s birthday! <33 Thank you for all the Max requests people have sent in over the past week. They’ve truly been a joy to write. & Thank you @supernaturalgirl for this lovely request. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist

Once upon a time, Maxwell Lord had these big, extravagant parties to celebrate his birthday. He’d host at fancy venues and it would be formal, strictly black-tie, and only the elite were invited. But the truth was, he was incredibly lonely. He had no friends, only colleagues and business associates. His wife would hang on his arm, wearing real fur, and Chanel couture earrings, parading around the room, flirting with other businessmen who might’ve been more successful than Max.

He didn’t like his birthday. Growing up, he didn’t celebrate much either. The Lorenzano family could barely afford to buy Maxwell new shoes or clothes that fit, so expecting gifts and parties was the last thing on his mind. Every year though, without fail, his mother would cook him a small cake and light a candle. “Make a wish, Maxwell.” she’d whisper. It was funny how things turned out.

And when he married for the first time, it was his wife who insisted on these big, luxurious celebrations with balloons and music. The attention was nice, sure, but it always felt like it was more for her than it was for him. He’d never say anything though. Just smile and nod. As long as she was happy. She sure seemed happy when Maxwell caught his wife with her tongue down another man’s throat at his 32nd birthday party. Thankfully, that marriage soon ended, and whilst Maxwell swelled with heartache for a good few months, better things were soon to come.

Like meeting you.

About a week before Maxwell’s birthday, Alistair was... hyper, to say the least. It was way past his bedtime, and yet he was bouncing up and down on yours and Max’s bed, clearly trying to get his father to leave the room.

“Daddy, could you go make me some french fries?”

Maxwell peeked up from his newspaper and furrowed his eyebrows together. His son’s question even ruffled you slightly, as you looked up from painting your nails and tilted your head slightly.

“Alistair, it’s eleven at night. No french fries.” Maxwell sighed before looking back down at his newspaper.

Alistair hummed, looking around the bedroom.

“Daddy, did you remember to feed Lady her evening biscuits?”

Maxwell looked up from his paper again, and stared at his son.

“I fed her this evening,” You said, trying to work out what kind of mischief Alistair was getting up to now. “Ali, is everything okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” The six year old replied, and well, it was a fair response. You and Maxwell exchanged a glance before getting back to your business. About ten seconds passed.

“Daddy, can you make me some warm milk?”

Maxwell sighed, this time dropping his newspaper completely and rubbing his tired eyes. “You don’t need warm milk Alistair.”

“But I’ll struggle to sleep without it.”

“I’ll go get you some,” you told the child, but Alistair quickly extended his arm, stopping you before you could get out of bed.

“No mommy, you’re sick. Besides, I asked daddy.”

You blinked, taken slightly aback. Alistair was a sweet child with wonderful manners, that much you knew, but even his decorum right now took you by surprise. He was speaking like a fully grown gentleman. Processing his words, you simply shrugged your shoulders before shuffling back into bed and getting comfortable.

Yeah, you’d been throwing up the past few days, in the mornings mostly, but you’d drawn it down to food poisoning. It was sweet how Alistair was seemingly looking out for your health. Maxwell’s gaze flicked between you both but, in defeat, he got out of bed and padded downstairs, into the kitchen to prepare his son’s bedtime beverage. Once he was gone, and you could hear him begin to steam the milk, you snapped your fingers to get Alistiar’s attention.

“Alright Ali,” you sighed, folding your arms across your chest. “What’s going on? Why have you been trying to get your dad to leave the room for the past...” you checked the time on the alarm clock which was positioned on Max’s nightstand. “Half an hour.” Gods he was persistent. Just like his father.

“We need to do something special for daddy’s birthday.” Alistair announced, and as he uttered the words, you already knew that there was no room for questioning him. He and his father were similar in that sense too.

“What do you have in mind?” you wondered out loud. You knew Maxwell’s birthday was approaching, despite your husband never talking about it. You hadn’t even thought of what to get him yet, which was a problem.

“A party. But not like the ones daddy has for work,” Alistair explained, referring to the many galas Maxwell had hosted in attempt to gain sponsorship and investments for his company. “Like, a small tea party. Just us. All his favourite snacks and the birthday cake granny used to make him when he was a kid. I know it’s his favourite. And balloons and banners and streamers. I can draw a picture. And music. And—“

“Okay okay baby slow down, I see where you’re coming from,” you smiled, pulling Alistair into your lap. “And I like the idea. Do you know if your dad has ever had a small party like this before?”

“I don’t think so.” Alistair replied softly and you nodded in understanding.

“Well, we’ll have to make sure it’s perfect. We can start planning tomorrow morning when he goes to work, okay? But keep your mouth zipped tight Ali, it has to be a surprise.”

———

The day of Maxwell’s birthday started like any other. He left for work at 7:30, his driver waiting for him outside. He graced you with a quick peck on the cheek and told you he couldn’t wait to see you tonight. Now, Maxwell hadn’t uttered one word about his birthday in the past week, but even today, he hadn’t mentioned it. You’d planned on giving him his present this morning when he woke up, but your nerves got the better of you.

You’d waited to give him this gift for a week already, you could at least wait a few more hours until he got home from work.

At 9am, your best friend arrived with an abundance of helium balloons, birthday banners and streamers. At 9:30am, you tried to help Alistair pick out a smart outfit, although he was begging to wear one of his new Star Wars Ewok costumes.

“How can you eat all the cake if you’re dressed as a massive teddy bear?” you asked the boy. He sighed, knowing that you had a point.

Alistair looked adorable in his button down shirt and pants. You even fished in Maxwell’s closet to find a bow tie, hoping it would complete the look.

“I look like dad.” Alistair mumbled, fiddling with the wonky tie that you’d haphazardly wrapped around his neck.

“Exactly. You look wonderful.” you grinned, enveloping him into a massive hug.

At 12, you figured it was the best time to begin baking the cake. But to do that, you needed the recipe. When you called Ms Lorenzano, your heart blossomed upon hearing the excitement in her voice.

“Oh darling! Hello! It’s so lovely to hear from you.” she spoke into the phone, and you could just imagine her smile on the other end of the line. It was identical to Maxwell’s.

“Hello Ms Lorenzano,” you greeted, nervously curling the telephone wire around your finger. “How’ve you been?”

“I was just packing away my groceries. I got the bouquet of flowers you and Maxwell sent me yesterday. They look beautiful on my dining room table. Thank you, darling. They really lighten up the room. How is my son? Is he there?” Ms Lorenzano quizzed.

“Max is great, actually. He’s working at the moment but we were thinking about flying out to see you this weekend. If you weren’t busy? Alistair misses you very much.”

“Oh that would be wonderful! I’ve missed my little cherub so much. Let me guess, a big party planned tonight for my Maxwell’s birthday?” She beamed.

“Not quite. It was Ali’s idea to plan something small - a tea party of sorts. He was telling me about this vanilla frosting birthday cake you used to bake when Max was younger? And I was hoping you’d share the recipe with me. I’d love to try and recreate it… although my baking skills are nowhere near as good as yours.” you giggled.

“That recipe has been passed down our family for generations,” Ms Lorenzano explained and you felt your heart sink into your chest. By neither law nor blood, you weren’t family. Would she really not give you the recipe? You’d been dating Maxwell for years now. And Ms Lorenzano did always say you were like a daughter to her… “Of course you can have it.” she smiled and you felt a wave of relief wash over you as she began to list the ingredients.

“Thank you Ms Lorenzano, it was so lovely to speak to you. Max is gonna give you a call tonight. Take care, okay?”

“Okay darling. I send my love. Give Alistair a kiss from his ol’ granny. I will see you Saturday.”

Now, the smart thing would’ve been to call over the house chef and have her prepare the birthday cake. At least then, it would be void of any errors. But this was strictly a Lorenzano family recipe and the last thing you wanted to do was to disrespect Ms Lorenzano and immediately give it to the house chef. So, you figured you’d give it your best go. At least then it would be sentimental.

Maxwell was a fussy eater, only eating the most delicious and well presented foods. You weren’t sure if he’d even step a foot near this cake. As you stirred together the ingredients, something wasn’t right. It was lumpy and bubbling and -- no matter what, you just couldn’t seem to fix it. You called Alistair in, who had been colouring in a family portrait he’d drawn, to take a look, but of course, he didn’t know any better.

When the cake came out the oven, it was lop-sided and slightly burned. You figured it would be okay if you just covered it in the vanilla frosting and placed the sliced strawberries intricately on the top. But no. Luck wasn’t on your side today. The strawberries slipped off and the icing was uneven. At least you managed to put the cake on one of the fancy ‘special occasion’ plates. You could just tell Maxwell that it was made with love.

Ali helped you decorate downstairs, which proved to be a challenge. The rooms in Lord manor were extensively sized and tall, but you did your best.

“Ali, I’m going to quickly get changed okay? Would you do me a favour and bring down your dad’s presents from upstairs? You could place them on the dining room table.”

Alistair nodded obediently and did as he was told. You went up to yours and Maxwell’s shared closet and looked around, trying to decide on what exactly you should wear. You opted on a beautiful, fitted champagne coloured dress that glittered in the artificial lighting. It was one of your favourite gowns and you had worn it last summer at one of Black Gold Cooperative’s charity fundraising events. You knew how much Maxwell loved it too. If Alistair was dressed in his father’s bow-tie, and Maxwell always looked presentable, there was no reason you couldn’t make an effort to look good too. Besides, you didn’t know how long you’d have left before you wouldn’t be able to fit into these dresses anymore.

You didn’t have long before Maxwell was due to finish work. You quickly style your hair and adjust your makeup, before padding downstairs and into the dining room. Just like you had requested, all of Maxwell’s presents were neatly piled on top of the table, courtesy of Alistair.

“He’ll be home any second Ali,” you said, handing Alistair a party popper and adjusting the cone shaped party hat on his head. Alistair was absolutely beaming, his big brown eyes twinkling like starlight as he anticipated his father coming home from work. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Alistair grinned.

“Okay. Good. Let’s go find a place to hide.”

Ducking down behind the stack of gifts, you waited for about five minutes in silence, until you heard the front door unlock. Alistair squeaked excitedly, hearing his dad come home and you bit your lip, quietly shushing him but unable to contain your own smile.

Maxwell was surprised when he came home. He wasn’t greeted like he expected to be. Normally, every evening after his shift, you and Ali would run into his arms and envelope him into a hug. The lack of running and hugs concerned Maxwell. The house was dead quiet, and he even found himself wondering if either of you were home.

When he padded into the dining room and switched on the light, you and Ali jumped out and screamed in unison; “Happy birthday!”

Maxwell froze, his jaw dropping open and his eyes going comically wide. He was presented with an abundance of gifts, a decorated dining room, his son and girlfriend all dressed up, and a questionable looking cake with a wax candle stuck in the top. You and Alistair ran into Maxwell’s arms and hugged him tight.

“Daddy! Daddy! It’s your birthday! Look! We planned a surprise tea party all by ourselves!” Alistar squealed, tugging on his father’s arm.

“I- I- wow!” Maxwell gasped, genuinely speechless. You bit your lip and swayed your hips as you lovingly gazed into his brown eyes. You didn’t know what it was, maybe the fact the whole day was leading up to this moment, or perhaps just an imbalance with your hormones, but you had missed him so much. Just seeing him again made you want to weep in his strong arms. You loved him so much.

“Happy birthday.” you whispered, raising your hand to cup his face. He nudged his nose against yours and you kissed him sweetly.

“You did all of this for me?” He asked after reluctantly pulling away, still in genuine shock.

“It was Ali’s idea.” you replied, letting your body lean against his. You rest your head into his chest so much so that you could hear the rhythm of his heartbeat.

“You look… breathtaking, darling.” Maxwell hummed, his hand resting on the small of your back.

“Come sit down,” you said, taking his hand and guiding him over to the dining room table. “You have all these presents, and we have cake and music…”

“The cake…” Maxwell pointed and quirking an eyebrow. “Is that… it can’t be…”

“It is, I called your mom for the recipe.” You confirmed with a nervous smile.

“I-- don’t believe it. I haven’t had this cake since--”

“I know. Again it was Ali’s idea,” you informed him. Alistair looked bashfully proud as he anticipated the cake cutting. “I know it doesn’t look the best…”

“Are you kidding?” Maxwell asked, cutting you off. “This is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“Would you like to try some?”

“Would I like to try some?” Maxwell repeated incredulously. “Of course!”

You lit the candle and held hands with Alistair and Max as the two of you sang happy birthday. As Maxwell blew out the candle, you told him to make a wish.

“I don’t need to wish for anything. I already have everything I could ever want. Right here.”

Maxwell got a variety of miscellaneous gifts for his birthday. A porcelain statue of a dog, a small desk flag with his company logo on it, a basket filled with biotin supplements, and of course the artwork that Alistair had created earlier in the day. It was a beautiful crayon illustration of you, Max, Ali, and of course your cat, Lady Lord. Maxwell promised to frame it and put it on his desk at work. Little did he realise though, the best gift was yet to come.

Once Alistair was tucked into bed, you and Maxwell decided to settle down and have an early night. All the eating and dancing had exhausted you both.

“Thank you for today,” Maxwell mumbled, pulling the zipper down your dress. His warm breath fanned over the shell of your ear and you immediately felt butterflies in your stomach. “Why don’t we go to bed, hm?” he asked, peppering kisses down your neck and along your shoulders.

You knew what he was hinting at, and you wanted it too. Of course you wanted it too. But there was something you had to deal with first. You were so nervous but you knew it was now or never.

“I didn’t give you your birthday present.” you announced, turning around to look your boyfriend in the eye.

“Wh-- what do you mean? You didn’t need to get me anything. This was enough. You-- you, my love, are enough.”

You smiled, rubbing his bicep and finding yourself once again getting lost in his eyes. You took a deep breath and pulled him into the en-suite bathroom. Although confused, Max didn’t say a word, and instead, he watched you in silence as you unlocked the drawer under the sink. It was where you usually kept your cosmetics, but Max’s gift had been waiting in there for the past week, wrapped up in tissue. You took it out and handed him it.

You anxiously watched as he unravelled the tissue, only to be presented with a positive pregnancy test. Your positive pregnancy test. His eyebrows knotted together and you watched his Adam's apple bop in his throat as he swallowed. But then, only seconds later, his face softened and his eyes became glazed with unshed tears. “You’re… we’re…”

“We’re pregnant, Max.” you confessed, confirming his thoughts.

Maxwell choked up and wrapped his strong arms tight around you, squeezing you hard. “Oh my God, we’re really pregnant?”

“Mhm.” you giggled, as Maxwell pulled away and cupped your cheeks with his hand. He kissed you passionately and when he pulled away, his grin was ecstatic.

“How long have you known?” He quizzed.

“A week.” you admitted.

“A week?!”

You swatted his arm playfully and shushed him.

“I wanted it to be a surprise. We have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, to confirm it and everything. But with the sickness and… I can feel it, you know?” You took his hand and placed it against your stomach. “I can really feel it.”

“I love you so much,” Maxwell smiled. “I love you so, so much.”

“Happy birthday my dear.” you replied, guiding him back over to the bed. “I love you too.”

--------x---------

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#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #maxwell lord #max lord #maxwell lord x reader #max lord x reader #jose pedro balmaceda pascal

169 notes · View notes

blueascend · 3 years

Text

Omura Aimi had been working at Toyokawa for roughly four days when she realized that their ace salesman, Kurosawa, had a boyfriend.

To be fair, she had been on the lookout for particular signs. Omura hadn’t been able to be out at her last job and she’d been hoping that Toyokawa would be different. She’d done her best to befriend everyone, keeping her ear out for office gossip, getting the lay of the land.

The first time she saw Kurosawa with his boyfriend, she breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, if the most popular man in the office could be himself so openly, Omura wouldn’t have any issues.

Unfortunately, it soon became apparent to her that most of their coworkers weren’t aware of Kurosawa’s relationship status. Everyone seemed to believe he was single and straight.

How? Didn’t they have functioning eyes?

It became a slight obsession for Omura over the next week, watching Kurosawa blatantly flirt with his boyfriend without anyone noticing. They even had matching red pens they kept waving at each other like the least secret signal in the world!

Then one day, someone caught her staring.

“You have a crush on Kurosawa?” her coworker, Nakamura asked. She laughed, not unkindly. “Better get in line, then.”

“Huh?” Omura furrowed her brow. Kurosawa was now fixing his boyfriend’s tie, standing way too close to him to do so. “No, not really.”

“No?” That was Chino, her voice bright and shocked. “But just look at him.”

Omura looked at her coworkers, a knot forming in her stomach as she saw their confused expressions. Uh oh. She wasn’t ready for that kind of suspicion, not when she had no idea how they would react.

“He’s not my type?” she tried. When they kept staring, she added, “I, uh, like someone else?”

Nakamura and Chino glanced at each other. “Don’t tell me,” Nakamura said. “It wasn’t Kurosawa you were looking at, was it?”

“You like Adachi!” Chino concluded.

Omura swallowed. Adachi. Right, that was the name Kurosawa’s boyfriend wasn’t it?

Well, if it would throw them off her trail. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Both women giggled.

“He is cute, I guess,” Chino said. “And much more attainable than Kurosawa.”

Nakamura clapped her hands. “We need to get you two together! An office romance, this is so exciting!”

They were gone before Omura could object, whispering between themselves. Omura groaned. That could’ve gone better.

Someone tapped her shoulder and Omura turned around to see Fujisaki. They didn’t know each other that well, as Omura had spent most of her time with the other women in her department, but she’d heard nothing but kind things about her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be nosy but I overheard you. Just so you’re not disappointed, I think Adachi is actually seeing someone.”

‘I think he’s seeing someone’ she said, but the glimmer in her eye very clearly stated ‘I know he is’. Had Omura misread the situation, was she actually Adachi’s girlfriend?

But no, then she would have said as much. She didn’t seem jealous or territorial either, only genuinely concerned that Omura might be in for a disappointment. How much did she know?

Deciding to test the water, Omura carefully admitted, “To be honest, I didn’t even know his name. It’s just easier to say you like someone when people are asking. I’m new here, I wanted to fit in.”

“Ah.” Fujisaki’s gaze turned curious. She looked at Omura for a few moments and Omura wasn’t sure what conclusion she reached, but she finally offered a kind smile. “I see. In that case, I’m glad I don’t have to worry.”

Omura smiled back. Maybe it was too soon to tell but she felt like she had an ally in Fujisaki.

“Omura, you are going to love this!”

Omura looked up from her laptop, seeing Nakamura and Chino approach her. “What?”

“We’ve just arranged for a group of us to go for drinks after work,” Nakamura said. “And we got Adachi to join! This will be the perfect chance for you two to spend time together.”

Omura’s stomach sank. “You - you did?”

“Don’t be nervous,” Chino said, misreading her expression. She reached over the desk, putting her hand on Omura’s shoulder. “We’ll be right there with you if you need help.”

Nakamura nodded, shooting Omura a finger gun. “You got this.”

“I got this,” Omura echoed faintly.

There were eight of them at the bar later that night; Omura, Chino and Nakamura, as well as Fujisaki, Adachi, Kurosawa, and two male coworkers Omura hadn’t learned the names of yet.

Chino and Nakamura, in full matchmaker-mode, managed to arrange the seating so that Omura and Adachi sat together at one end of the table, with Kurosawa and the rest of the women on the other.

Omura glanced at poor Adachi, who looked supremely uncomfortable to be there. Even if he didn’t know about Omura’s supposed crush on him, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy these kinds of gatherings. Omura was sure he’d much rather be at home, unwinding with his boyfriend after work.

Sorry Adachi, she told him in her mind. She frowned, considering. But at least now I can try to find out if I’m really right about your relationship with Kurosawa.

“Have I introduced myself to you yet?” she asked him.

Even that polite question was enough to startle him. “What? Ah, I don’t think so.”

She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and nodded. “I’m Omura Aimi, I started working at Toyokawa recently.”

“Adachi Kiyoshi.” Adachi nodded back. “Do you - do you enjoy your work?”

“Very much.” Omura looked over at her friends, who both gave her not-so-subtle thumbs up. “It’s a nice atmosphere, much more friendly than my old workplace.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence descended between them. Omura had a sip of beer as she wondered what to say next. She had no idea how to casually broach a topic like hey, are you gay like me? Adachi mirrored her, grimacing slightly as he drank.

This really wasn’t his scene, huh?

“What do you like to do outside of work?” Omura finally asked.

“I, ah,” Adachi fumbled as he placed his glass down, spilling a few drops of beer. “The usual things, I suppose. I like reading, drawing, playing on the Switch.”

“Yeah? I like video games too, I just started a new save file in Stardew Valley.”

Adachi perked up. “I’ve also been playing that. I got Kurosawa to join me in multiplayer but it’s been going kind of slow. He can’t master the fishing mini game and it’s been frustrating him. He’s not used to being bad at stuff.”

Omura giggled. “I can picture that. I love the multiplayer too, especially since I can use it to get married to-” my girlfriend, she barely stopped herself from saying. She cleared her throat, smiling awkwardly. “Anyway, it’s a lot of fun.”

“Mhm,” Adachi agreed.

Another awkward silence commenced. Omura looked to her friends again but they were busy talking amongst themselves. Fujisaki met her eyes and smiled. Next to her sat Kurosawa and he was glancing between Omura and Adachi, frowning unhappily.

Maybe Omura was reading too much into it but he looked almost... jealous?

She turned back to Adachi, the desire to confirm her suspicions growing stronger than ever. Screw subtlety, what she needed was privacy.

“Adachi?” she asked. “Do you mind if we talk alone?”

Adachi stiffened, eyes widening in panic. “Eh?”

Omura stood up. “It will only take a moment.”

Reluctantly, Adachi got up as well and followed her. As they walked away, Omura could hear her friends talking, the alcohol likely making them a little too carefree and loud:

“-so bold! But I guess with a guy like Adachi, the woman has to take charge.”

“Do you think she’s going to confess already?”

Their voices faded away as they turned a corner. Omura lead Adachi to the balcony connected to the bar. It was thankfully empty and as Omura slid the doors shut behind them, they had perfect privacy.

“What did you want to talk about?” Adachi asked, clearly dreading the answer.

Omura bit her lip. How to word this? “You... we...” she rubbed her hands together, finally settling on, “I think we might have some things in common. Besides video games.”

“Like- like what?”

Omura opened her mouth to answer but before she could, the doors to the balcony were shoved open. Kurosawa stood in the doorway, looking as much a mess as Omura had ever seen - that is, still very put together, but hair slightly ruffled and cheeks pink from either the alcohol or the warmth inside the bar.

“Don’t!” he cried and this was it, as blatant a sign as Omura was ever going to get.

“Relax, Kurosawa,” she said. “I’m not going to confess to your boyfriend.”

Kurosawa blinked. “You’re not? But they just said-” he stopped himself short, clearly realizing what he’d just admitted. “I mean-”

“He’s not my type,” Omura cut in before he could panic too much. “Besides, I doubt my girlfriend would approve.”

Both Kurosawa and Adachi stared at her. For a second, Omura feared she’d really misunderstood them after all, but then Kurosawa slumped against the door in relief.

“I see,” he laughed.

Adachi looked relieved as well. “So that’s what you meant by ‘things in common’, huh?”

“Yeah,” Omura said. “But sorry if I made you nervous.”

“It’s fine.” Adachi waved his hand in dismissal. “How did you find out, anyway? Did Fujisaki tell you?”

So Fujisaki really was in the know. “No, and I don’t think she ever would. You two are just really obvious to those who know what to look for. Especially Kurosawa.”

Kurosawa shrugged, not looking the least bit ashamed. Adachi rolled his eyes fondly.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go back inside,” Omura said. “I’ll tell them I chickened out on confessing to you or something. They’ll lose interest in this whole thing soon enough.”

She passed Kurosawa, who stepped out onto the balcony as she went inside. As she closed the door behind her, she could hear Adachi teasing Kurosawa lightly:

“Were you being jealous again, Yuichi?”

“Don’t be mean. How could I help it when Kiyoshi is so cute, I want him all to myself!”

Adachi laughed but it was muffled. “Not here, someone could see!”

Omura shook her head as the doors sealed shut, leaving them to their privacy.

She couldn’t wait to tell her girlfriend about this.

#cherry magic #30sai made Dotei dato Mahotsukai ni Narerurashii #kurodachi #fanfic #outsider pov

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dumdumsun · 3 years

Text

And Dusk

A/N: Enjoy ❤️

Warnings: blood and violence

Word Count: 1975

—————————————

Chapter 4: Always Next Time

Who the hell were those men?

Shaken up from her encounter with the three gunmen, (Y/N) threw the front doors of her home open and hurried inside with Mr Pennycrumb skittering behind her. “Dad?” She called out as she hurried all around, her voice breaking and echoing throughout the house. “Dad?!”

“(Y/N), hun, what’s going on?” The southern accent sounding from behind her caused her tense posture to relax as she turned to Grace.

“Mom… W-Where’s Dad?”

“He’s at a meeting, sweetheart. I’m not sure where, he didn’t tell me much,” When her daughter nodded with a faraway look, Grace took a step closer. “What happened? Where’s Preston?”

Swallowing, (Y/N) tried her best to crawl out of the hole she dug for herself, but it seemed to just be getting deeper. “Uh… I was attacked by some crazy people a-and Preston decided to take me home.” She rushed out as her feet quickly took her to the staircase that led to the rooms. Grace was immediately on her heels.

“You were what?! Honey, are you okay?! Who was it, what’d they do?!”

“It’s fine, Mom-”

“No, it’s not! You need to be tellin’ us these things, (Y/N). W-What if somethin’ like last time happened?” Grace recalled the day the two met. The girl’s shoulders visibly tensed and her mother wondered if she should have said that.

“Mom… I-”

“It’s alright, darlin’. I’m sorry for saying that.”

“No, no!” (Y/N) quickly turned towards her and brought her into a tight hug. Grace chuckled and returned the affection. “I’m glad you worry… It lets me know I’m loved.”

Grace gently ran her hand through the girl’s hair. “You most definitely are…”

(Y/N) began to get choked up, so she pulled away before the waterworks could make their presence known. She pointed behind herself awkwardly. “I’m gonna… get some sleep. I’m a little exhausted…”

“Of course, sweetheart. How about I make you a snack when you wake up?”

The familiarity of this woman making her food simply because she loved her had the girl’s (e/c) orbs nearly overflowing with tears as she nodded. “I’d love that. Thank you, Mom… I love you.” She grinned before slipping into her bedroom and softly closing the door. As soon as she heard her mother’s footsteps echo down the hall, she quickly wiped her eyes and charged towards her bed, flopping onto her back and closing her eyes.

Inhale for one, two, three, four

One, two, three, four…

One moment, she’s in her bedroom, and in the next, she’s in the park where she left her date. She adjusted her blurry vision by blinking several times. The fogginess washed away to reveal Preston much closer to her than she was comfortable with. His brown eyes were glancing at her lips as his blonde waves, once slicked back, fell in his eyes as he leaned close to her, lips puckered. Before his lips could graze hers, she pressed her index and middle fingers to his mouth. The boy frowned and stopped his movement, eyes fluttering open. “Um… What are you doing?”

“I-I was, uh-”

“I have to go,” She stood to her feet. “I think Mr Pennycrumb ran away.”

“Oh,” Preston’s entire expression fell into a look of irritation that had her blood boiling every time she saw it. “Then, I’ll help you look.”

“No,” She shook her head. “I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m just…”

(Y/N) placed her hand over her eyes and feigned sadness. “I’m so torn up about it… I just wanna be alone…”

“Awe, honey,” Preston stood and moved to stand in front of her. “I told you that you didn’t need that dumb dog. How about I take you to get some ice cream-”

“I just said I wanted to be alone!” She quickly turned away and took long strides to get away from him faster. “We’ll reschedule!”

Groaning into her hands, (Y/N) made her way back to her home, running to the side where the roof cast its shadow, a perfect hiding spot. Sitting down in the grass, she hugged her knees to her chest as close as she could before humming her three-note tune to dismiss her clone. Her eyes rolling to the back of her head, she became dizzy and her vision faded to black. When she opened her eyes, she was in her bedroom again, laying on her back. Exhaling, she let her hand drop onto her chest. “God…”

-------------------------------------------------

“This is it.” Five announced as he and Diego exited the car stolen by the latter. The two approached their father’s company building with slow, hesitant steps as they surveyed the exterior.

“‘D.S. Umbrella’. This is it.” Diego muttered. The closer they neared the entrance, the slower Five’s pace grew until he stopped walking altogether. Diego turned to his brother in concern. “You okay?”

Five hesitated. “Yeah, fine. Just…” When he reached the front door, he let out a sigh. Diego swiftly took out his knife and began picking the lock on the door.

“How long has it been since you’ve seen the old man?”

“Forty-five years…”

“That’s a trip…”

“No kidding…” The boy sighed yet again. “You know, when I was stuck out there in the apocalypse, there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t hear his voice in my head.”

Diego didn’t look away from his task. “What was he saying?” He asked before muttering to himself when he couldn’t get the door to unlock.

“‘I told you so’.”

The quote itself made Diego scoff and shake his head. “Yeah, I’ve witnessed (Y/N) get an earful of that after you left… Dad used to lock her in that damn room all the time…”

“What room?” Five stood straighter, the mention of his love something he would never disregard.

“A small, dark room in a part of the house none of us were allowed to go… I don’t know how she did it, but he kept her in that room with no windows or light or human interaction until she was able to find you,” Diego looked up at his brother. “Almost a week.”

“A week? He kept her there for almost a week?!”

“Yep. And each day she couldn’t reach you, we could hear him shouting about her ‘not wanting to find her true potential’ or whatever bullshit he tried to beat into her mind to make her feel like shit. But something must’ve happened, because on the fifth day, Mom was bringing her to her room. God, she looked…”

Five wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.

“She looked dead. Like she had just come from her own grave. She didn’t talk to anyone for a while.”

“Starlight…” The boy shut his eyes and shook his head. His mind immediately thought back on Luther’s words. Perhaps he had been dragging her into every mess he made, and he’d been doing it far longer than he thought.

Diego was silent for a few beats before breaking it with a huff. “But hey, if Dad’s here, he’s never met either of you before, so he can’t say ‘I told you so’.”

“I’m sure the bastard will find a way.” Five growled, the tiniest hint of a sarcastic smile on his face before it fell moments later. Without warning, he blinked inside the building and unlocked the door for his brother, who sat dumbly before him.

“Right… Gotta remember that.” Diego cleared his throat as he stood to his feet and walked inside. After searching around for a bit, the two decided to split up to cover more ground. Five tried several rooms, all with locked doors until he found one in particular.

The decor was disturbing, to say the least. Set up to be a family room, yet the only “people” inhabiting the room were three mannequin-esque figures. Brushing off the chill that ran down his spine, he made his way to another room with a desk on one side of it, going through several papers until he came across an invitation to a gala. Deeming this useful, Five pocketed the invitation just before the sound of something metallic clattering behind him could be heard. Slowly, the boy stalked closer to a part of the room where a child’s play area had been set up. There was a table with puzzles, crayons and paper. Five unknowingly passed a chalkboard with the names “Pogo” and “(Y/N)” written in yellow chalk. The boy’s eyes caught a drawing on the table and picked it up. It had to have been drawn by a child, the monkey on the paper poorly drawn. The character beside it, though, had the gears turning in Five’s head. It was a girl with (h/l) (h/c) hair and (s/c) skin. He was going to look around the area more when he heard another noise coming from in front of him. He dropped the paper and moved forward, his body going still at who stepped out of the shadows.

An ape wearing only pajama pants cautiously crawled out of his hiding spot and Five immediately knew who it was. His soft grunting and squeaking made the boy’s voice and actions become softer as he crouched down in front of the chimp. “Hi… Pogo,” He whispered as the two got closer. “Hey… It’s alright, little buddy.” He softly smiled as both he and Pogo stared at each other in wonder. With a gentleness only shown to his love, Five slowly reached forward. “Pogo… It’s good to see you-”

He was caught off guard when Pogo screeched and struck Five in the side of his neck, causing the boy to cry out and fall over. The chimp quickly moved away from Five and ran through the glass wall, leaving him a panting mess. The boy looked all around as his hand pressed onto his bleeding wound. “Diego! Diego!” He called out as he stumbled to his feet, dashing out of the room. Little did he know, Diego was nowhere near him, having his own share of bloodshed.

Just as Diego was about to have his ass handed to him, he spotted a rebar a little ways away from him. Turning slightly, he kicked the man who had a grip on his arm, setting himself free. The Kraken jumped onto the platform, grabbed the rebar in both his hands, and backflipped off the platform, landing right in front of his shadow-clad opponent. The man dodged nearly every swing Diego took at him, save for the one to the side, and then to the leg that sent him to his knees. Raising the rebar above his head, Diego was just ready to give this man hell. But when he raised his head and revealed himself to be Sir Reginald Hargreeves, Diego hesitated. “Dad…” He whispered before a small knife sunk itself into his abdomen. He wheezed out a breath, his father staring into his eyes as he muttered,

“Ametur.”

Diego could do nothing but fall to the ground as blood seeped out of his wound after the knife was ripped out of him, watching as Reginald continued down the foggy pathway. He clapped his gloved hands twice, alerting a screeching Pogo to drop down from where he had been waiting. Once the chimp was on the ground, he and Reginald joined hands, continuing away from the man bleeding out on the ground.

-------------------------------------------------

As Grace and (Y/N) painted together, the girl hummed her usual tune, being interrupted when her mother softly gasped. “Y’know what? Reggie wasn’t at a meeting. He was takin’ Pogo to run some tests. That’s why he’s out so late.”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” (Y/N) sighed. “I wanted to go this time…”

“There’s always next time, darlin’.”

“Yeah,” The girl returned to her painting. “Next time.”

—————————————

Taglist: @unfortu-nate-ly @sapphicsyn @m00n-sh @starcurrent @alexander-hamilhoe @youcandalekmyballs @wonderlandfandomkingdom @yrdadjstcallsmekatya @sm0kingcrack @a-t-h-r-e-e-n-a @moatsnow @bubblegumflamingos @starstormssymphony @meowiemari @magicalgothpandamaker @simping-4-fictional-men @hehehehannahthings @harrystylescherrie @rhain3 @himikaphoo @zerocanonlywriteshit @xxeiraxx @camerondiaz48104 @isawachickeninatree @theyaremorethanjustfictional @that-can-of-fizz

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #umbrella academy x reader #tua #tua fanfic #tua x reader #tua five #five hargreeves #five hargreeves x reader #number five #number five x reader #five x reader #of starlight #and dusk

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aslitheryprinx · 3 years

Note

Fake Fic Titles:

You Look So Different When You're Sleeping

Under The Moonlight

Please Don't Leave Me

There's A Monster in the Sky, in the Wood, in the Fields

These prompts are all so good!! Again, I kind of wrote a LOT for this lol. I hope you enjoy!

CW: some fear and panic, sacrifice.

Nothing too dark this time.

You look so different when you're sleeping

A borrower is rarely active during the day. It is much safer to borrow when the humans are asleep, less likely to see you. Ranboo has no desire to borrow during the day. The very few times he's been awake while the humans were have been terrifying. He's never even had a close call; there's just something frightening about watching humans move and interact with the world, even from a hidden position. They're too fast for something so large; too attentive, too intelligent. They are loud and smart and utterly petrifying, and Ranboo will stick to borrowing at night, thank you very much.

But... In the darkness, in the peace and quiet of the night, the humans aren't quite as frightening. They're still and calm while they sleep, expressions lax and breathing deep and slow. It's almost... Peaceful seeing the giant beings so still and gentle.

He probably shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching the human sleep with such fascination. But he's done everything thing he needs to do... And everything he doesn't need to do. He has no chores to keep him occupied, has enough food stored to last for weeks if it keeps that long. He has nothing to do, and finds himself drifting to the human's room. He climbs the nightstand, only a little nervous at how close he is to the dangerous being, and watches.

It's relaxing somehow, and the human looks much less like a dangerous threat like this. He looks more like a person. Which he is, humans are people, but it's hard to remember that when they walk past and all he can think of is how easily a single step could crush him.

He feels calmer than he has in a while, and watching someone sleep makes him sleepy. He's tempted to blink his eyes shut, but he can't while still in a dangerous place. But he's tired enough he should probably head home.

Ranboo stands up, and is about to start the climb back down the nightstand when the human shifts.

Instantly he's alert, adrenalin flooding his body. He doesn't know whether to run, try to make it to the floor before the human wakes up or to hide on the nightstand and pray he isn't seen.

He's too slow to decide, to frozen with indecision, and the humans eyes snap open. A second later, an eye half his size filled with a terrifying amount of intelligence rests on him.

There's a blink as the human registers his presence, then the human is sitting up, laser focused on him.

Ranboo trembled under the gaze, wishing he could just teleport away to safety. The human had looked much less terrifying when he was sleeping.

Under the Moonlight

Please don't leave me

Ok I'm just gonna bullet point this one lol.

Phil is an immortal with a strange curse

When he's beneath the moonlight, he can move. But when he's no longer touched by the light from the moon, he freezes into a solid statue.

This causes a lot of problems, and he's found out the hard way that's he can't die. If he's smashed to pieces, he'll just wake up beneath the next moon, completely fine.

One night when the moon is not out, a strange man finds him and takes him home.

The man, Technoblade, restores damaged statues, sculpture, and similar art in his free time, and Phil is apparently damaged enough to need restoration.

Eventually Phil is placed by a window. The problem is, the moon only shines through for less than an hour each night.

Phil needs to figure out how to escape outside in that short time frame... Without alerting the human, who seems far too perceptive.

Wilbur should've known better. Really, falling asleep while outside of the fae realm? That was just asking for trouble. Any human, or just a wild animal for that matter could stumble across him and that would be that.

At least he'd had the sense to stay in his insect form. To any passing humans, he just looked like a butterfly. Perhaps his brilliant blue wings were a little unusual, but not enough to draw suspicion.

Unfortunately, his butterfly appearance did not seem to help him any this time. Because when Wilbur woke up, he was in a jar.

He'd been caught, by a human child no less. And according to the natural laws of the world, his magic wouldn't work once he'd been trapped, not until his captor decided to release him.

Wilbur was in quite the conundrum. There was no way the kid was going to release a cool butterfly he caught. But if Wilbur revealed himself, there was no guarantee he'd want to release the even cooler fairy. Still, being in his normal form would at least give him a chance of talking his way out, and he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in a jar.

With a sigh, he shed his insect disguise. As expected the kid gasped, and gazed down at him with wide eyes.

"Woah!!!" the young human gasped, raising the jar higher and staring at Wilbur. He couldn't lie, having someone so much larger than him looking so closely at him was a little unnerving. But Wilbur put on a charming smile to talk to them.

"Hello!" He said, and the human kid grinned.

"Hi!" He replied excitedly. "You're a fairy? I've never met a fairy before! What's your name?"

Did... Did the child not know anything about fairies? Did he not know the power names held? Well if not, Wilbur certainly wasn't going to tell him. He also wasn't going to give him his full name, whether or not the kid could use it or not.

"You can call me Wilby," he said, unable to tell a complete lie. It was a little bit embarrassing to give the kid his childhood nickname, but it would do.

"Wilby," the kid repeated and despite his awkward situation, Wilbur had to fight the urge to coo. The kid didn't say his own name, however, so he decided to push slightly.

"What's yours?" He asked, not an ounce of deception in his voice.

"I'm T- uhhh I mean I can't tell you. The adults say we can't give our names to strangers."

Damn. At least he didn't know why, which meant Wilbur still might be able to get out of this.

"That's ok," he says, showing none of his disappointment. "We'll just have to become friends first."

He's a little startled when tears spring up in the kid's eyes and he sniffles. Oh dear.

"Really?" The kid asks. "You'll really be my friend, Wilby?"

That should have no right to make his heart melt. He was trapped in a jar for fuck sake! He needed the kid to free him, not make him feel soft.

"Of course," Wilbur said. "Could you let me out of the jar first?"

The kid hesitates and he fights the urge to curse. It's worth a try, but he gets the feeling it won't be that easy.

"But... if I let you out, you'll go away," the human says sadly. It's true, but Wilbur refuses to feel guilty for that fact. "And then I won't have any friends at all."

"I can't be your friend if I'm in a jar," Wilbur tries. "Then I'm just a prisoner." The kid hesitates even more.

"How about this," Wilbur hedges. If you promise to let me out, I'll be your friend."

The human lights up.

"You promise?" He asks. Wilbur words his promise very carefully, knowing he'll be held to it by his own nature.

"I promise that if you let me out, I'll be your friend," he says, and the human cheers.

"Now we're friends forever!" He says excitedly. "And I'll let you out when we get home and you can live with me and, and-"

Wilbur tunes him out. He can feel the promise taking hold, which means the kid really does intend on letting him out. Luckily being friends with someone doesn't influence his mind, but he's still in the jar.

"Hey, do you want to play a game?" He asks. The kid brightens.

"Yes! What game?" He nearly shouts.

"We'll play Simon Says," Wilbur says with a grin. The name had become commonplace, but few humans knew the origin of the game.

"Can I go first?" The kid asked. If Wilbur interpreted the question as the kid playing first rather than giving the commands then...

"Yes," he said truthfully, as all fairies must. "But we're going to play a more fun version. You use your own name instead."

"Oh," The human said, disappointed. "But I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers."

Wilbur feels victory, tantalizingly close.

"Well we aren't strangers anymore, are we?" He asks reasonably. The child's face brightens, and he gasps in delight.

"You're right," he says. "we're friends now! My name is Tommy!"

And just like that, Wilbur has his ticket to freedom.

"Tommy," he croons, testing the power behind the name. Tommy instantly sways in place, eyes glazing over.

"Saemonsae, Tommy," Wilbur says, speaking the true name of the spell that gives him power over anyone who gives up their name. It's the easiest spell to perform; he never met another fairy who couldn't use this spell. Even while trapped, the spell was child's play.

"Open the jar, Tommy," he commands sweetly. Instantly, the child is moving, unscrewing the lid. Wilbur flutters free, heart soaring. He circles the dazed human's head a few times before landing on the lid of the jar.

If he were a crueler being, he could pay back the imprisonment a hundredfold. If he wished, he could make Tommy do anything he wanted. A dark part of him, the part that was the most instinctual part of being a fairy, wanted to. It wanted to trap the silly boy and show him that fairies weren't toys, weren't creatures to be trifled with.

The rest of him knew that Tommy was just a kid. He would make Tommy take back the deal, the one that still bound him to be the child's friend.

But... Tommy was crying. He froze, watching the kid, still under his power sniffle. Maybe he was scared? It was very likely. He didn't have control of himself anymore, and that would scare most adults.

"Wilby," Tommy sniffled. Wilbur was morbidly curious. What would the child say while scared? Would he ask to be spared? To be freed? Wilbur wouldn't hurt him regardless, but he wanted to know. He let Tommy keep talking.

"Wilby, are you leaving?" He asked, and suddenly another part of Wilbur rose up at the desperation in the child's voice. He felt his face soften, and then Tommy spoke the final words that pierced Wilbur's heart.

"Please don't leave me alone," the little human child begged. Not worried at all about Wilbur abusing the power he had and hurting him; just wanting Wilbur to stay. How lonely was this young human, that he became so attached to the first friendly person he met? (And how soft was Wilbur, that he was already attached as well?)

"I won't leave you," Wilbur decided on a whim.

Fairies could be many things. Cruel and kind, gentle and vicious, completely truthful while being manipulative. They were also be selfish.

Wilbur liked Tommy. He was his friend because of the promise he'd made, the one that he could make the child release at any moment. But the human was also lonely and sad, and the fairy decided he was Wilbur's.

"Saemonsae, Tommy," he repeated, and the human would do as he asked. "You're going to live with me."

There's a Monster in the Sky, in the Woods, in the Fields.

It has been centuries since humanity was safe on the surface. When the Endless War of the the gods broke out, at the end of it all, the earth went to the victors. It was only by the grace and mercy of the dual gods of the Underground and Wealth that humanity was not subjugated by the powerful gods above.

The cave Tommy's village lives in is close; far too close to the territories of several very powerful gods. Their village gives sacrifices every year; the best cow in the village, the most bountiful portion of their crops. Yet still, the gods seek unsatisfied. Each year the twisting trees from the woods grow closer, and the wild crops from the field creep towards the entrance of their cave, and the sky peeks more and more through the slowly crumbling ceiling of the cave.

For centuries, the village has increased their sacrifices, giving all they can without starving their own people. Each household gives until it hurts, leaving behind everything they can spare, sometimes parting with sentimental items. It's never enough. Finally, there is only one more way to escalate the sacrifices.

They must give the gods a life to be free.

With great reluctance, the elders choose a child to be sent out. He is innocent, and he is alone. His sacrifice will be tragic, but better a poor waif with no family to miss him then one of the children of the families around. It must be a child; innocence is essential to a good sacrifice and they cannot afford to slight the gods.

The boy's name is Tommy, and he's terrified as he's tied up and dragged go the entrance of the cave. The priests are covered head to toe, so they tread as little on sacred ground as possible. Tommy is barefoot, dressed only in loose robes that fall past his knees.

He shakes as he's placed perfectly between the wild fields and dark woods, open and seen by the sky above.

The priests tie the ropes to the ground and return to the village, muttering prayers as they go. No matter how he tries, Tommy cannot free himself from the bindings. He struggles until he hears a snap of a foot on a branch.

From the woods, he comes. He is the first to arrive, and the sight of him makes Tommy's heart tremble in his chest from the sheer terror.

He is a giant, as the gods tend to be. Towering easily above the trees of his domain, and looking down at where Tommy lays bound with a curious gleam in his eyes. His eyes are a warm brown like sunwarmed soil. Brown eyes should not be able to glow, but rules don't apply to gods. His curling brown hair looks a bit like branches, and he has a crown of leaves braided around his head like a circlet. It distracts him for a moment from the pointed ears that could never be mistaken as human and the razor sharp fangs from a mouth big enough Tommy felt faint with fear.

"What have we here?" The god asks, voice melodic and resonating through Tommy's entire being. There's something almost sad in his voice, and Tommy feels the emotion despite his fear. "A little gift from the humans, I suppose."

"Are you sure this gift is for you?" a deep voice calls from behind Tommy. He freezes, a fresh wave of terror washing over him. He turns to find a second god, standing tall and proud in the fields.

He is meant to be a god of harvest, but the scent of blood fills Tommy's nose. The god looks far more like a king than a farmer, with an intricate crown of gold resting on his head. His hair is a vibrant pink, and Tommy had never found the color so intimidating as when this powerful looking god wore it. His ears and mouth were the same as the other gods, but his eyes were a terrible red, looking like blood might spill from them at any moment.

"After all," he continued, and the powerful sound made Tommy feel like his bones were vibrating in his body, "he seems to be in my field."

"Perhaps," the god of the forest says, and although there is no anger in his voice, Tommy tenses at what must be a growing argument between gods.

"You cannot deny," the Woods continues, "That he is also in my forest. He is partially bound to the roots of a tree."

"And partially bound to the soil of my fields," the harvest god finishes.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, breathing shakily. It is said gods rarely share. Especially when it comes to matters of power, such as sacrifices, they will not accept others taking what is theirs. Will they fight to have all of him? Or will they tear him perfectly in half, split him and call it even? No matter the outcome, Tommy doesn't see himself surviving, and he whimpers quietly.

The sound of wings fluttering startles him, and he opens his eyes. The two gods must have heard it as well, because they fall silent.

Tommy's eyes catch a single feather, floating down from the sky. Despite the third shadow that is now falling over him, all he can do is watch the falling feather as is slowly drifts down, landing right next to him. It is as black as the night, looks soft as silk... And is twice as long as he is tall. He shudders uncontrollably, finally gazing up at the third god; the god of the sky.

He catches sight of him and his breath catches in his throat. That is not a mere god of the sky.

Wings as dark as death stretch behind him. He is cloaked in dark green robes that cover his hands. Soft blonde hair falls around his face, and an unmistakeable hat covers his eyes and his pointed ears. Tommy has seen his likeness carved into countless statues, painted onto the walls of the cavern, etched into books.

This was one of the Two; this was the Angel of Death, the god over all endings.

"Don't tell me you have a claim on him as well," the forest god says lightly, and Tommy shudders at the idea. The Angel of Death laughs.

"He's been placed equally between Woods, Fields and Sky; I believe we are meant to share him."

The gaze of three gods, one of them one of the two most powerful beings in the universe fall on him, and Tommy's terror becomes too much to handle. His vision goes dark, and he knows no more.

#mcyt g/t #g/t #giant/tiny #dsmp g/t #prinx fake title game #aslitheryanswers #tiny!ranboo #tiny!tommy

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manianart · 3 years

Text

Bunny Sheriff pt2

It had been a lot easier to adjust than Sheriff would have thought it to be. It had been about a week now

A week that he had stayed with the others and it really wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. Once everything was explained and it was put out that Sheriff would be staying nobody made a fuss about it. On the contrary, even. Deimos seemed rather excited at the thought of keeping a pet. Sheriff didn’t know what to think about that but he was thankful nobody was against him staying.

After a while Deimos and Sanford said they’d go out for a drive. When they came back they had brought a bunch of pet supplies for bunnies.

Deimos went to set them up right away with Sanford by his side, reading out of a booklet with the title “how to care for lop bunnies”.

Was that what he was? Sheriff cocked his head to the side and blinked a few times, not really sure what to think about all this but not really able to raise any questions. Once everything was apparently ready Deimos went over and took Sheriff from the Doc, who ever so slightly tensed up.

A few seconds later Sheriff was plopped into a new cage.

Great.

He huffed out a bit at the thought of having to stay in yet another cage but then he noticed something. The cage ground was soft and it was a lot bigger than the other one. There was food, water, bedding, some toys, straw and, to Sheriffs delight, a little hut that he could use to hide in.

D:”Don’t worry lil dude. This is only for nights or when we can’t keep an eye on ya.”

Deimos smiled at Sheriff. Such an honest smile and such a nice gesture. Sheriff wanted to say thanks but being that he couldn’t talk he did the next best thing. Leaning up towards Deimos hands, that were still somewhat in his cage, he nuzzled them carefully, the way he had seen cats do when asking for pats.

Deimos smile grew and he started to carefully pat the soft fluff behind the Sheriffs ear.

Both Deimos and the Sheriff were too occupied with their interaction to see Hank draw close up until he was kneeling in front of the new cage.

H:”Looks like he likes the new cage.” Deimos stopped himself when he heard Hank and looked over, now smiling at Hank.

D:”Yeah! I’m glad. Wasn’t easy to decide which one to get but Sanford found that book on bunnies and that made it somewhat easier.”

Sheriff looked over to where the other man stood, still reading in that booklet they had brought along.

Sanford noticed and slowly started to wander over to the cage before kneeling down and starting to look between the Sheriff and the booklet.

S:”I think I found out what kind of bunny this one is.” D:”Oh? Which one is it?” S:”Pretty sure he’s a dwarf lop bunny. See? The book has some pictures on them and he looks exactly like this one.” Deimos and Hank both leaned over to see where on the page Sanford was pointing to. Sheriff too tried to look, leaning on his hind legs and stretching up as far as he could to see the page as well, not having much luck with it though. By the reactions of the other two men he was pretty sure it was right though. Sanford met Sheriffs gaze and turned the booklet around, pointing to a bunny that was pictured on the page.

S:”Look, this is you.” Sheriff looked at the image. So that’s what he looked like now, huh? He had to say that that picture was rather cute, no wonder Hank didn’t want to hurt him when he found him. He wouldn’t have had the heart to do anything to a bunny like that either.

Just then he heard one of them yawn. Looking up he saw Hank open his mouth, sharp incisors and a metal jaw making him slightly flinch before he felt himself yawn as well.

2B:”It’s getting late. We should go to our quarters and head to bed.” The others nodded but then Deimos brought up a good point.

D:”So, who’ll get to keep the lil bun with them tonight?” 2B:”I don’t know but I sure as hell ain’t gonna take him to my room.” H:”I can keep him in my room.” D:”No fair! You had him the most out of all of us today!” S:”How about we play a round of rock paper scissors? The winner takes him with him for the night.” Hank and Deimos nodded at that, not even glancing at Sheriff to see what he had to add to that.

The first match they all went against each other, mostly to gage who would then go against each other in a one to one, but that wasn’t even needed. One draw and Sanford won, having given paper while the other two gave stone as answer.

Happy with the result and not willing to draw things out Sanford simply grabbed Sheriffs cage and walked to his room with it.

Once inside Sheriff looked around a bit. It was a clean room, sparsely decorated with only a few personal items.

What drew the Sheriffs interest were some pictures hanging on the wall above the table he had been placed on.

They showed Sanford and Deimos mostly but some also showed the other two men with a third one Sheriff didn’t recognize.

While looking at the photos Sheriff hadn’t noticed Sanford starting to undress, only noticing when the latter spoke up.

S:”Hey, I’ll go shower real quick. Behave while I’m gone, okay?” Sheriff watched the man head to a door that apparently led to a bathroom attached to his bedroom. Geez. Now Sheriff started to feel dirty. It had been a while since he had gotten the chance to shower.

Sighing he thought about what he could do.

He could try and get Sanford to let him bathe in the sink or something, though he wasn’t really sure if the man would understand him at all. He could use the water bowl in his new cage to bathe in but then he wouldn’t have any water to drink.

Sighing Sheriff thought about his last option. Just doing it the way bunnies would usually do it. Meaning using his tounge.

He shivered at the thought of it but in the end it was the only viable option at the moment. He looked at his front paws, they didn’t look too bad. Now...how did bunnies do that again… Shoot he really didn’t know. Maybe he should just let the body do it’s own thing? Could he do that?

He just decided to start, bringing his paws up and licking at them a bit before smoothing them over his face. Okay, this felt right. Moving on he re-wet his paws and continued with his ears.

He moved slow and methodical.

He was only at his second ear when Sanford came out of the bathroom again. Not noticing the other man he continued cleaning himself until he heard a chuckle.

S:”Y’know you could have pointed to the bathroom and I would’ve gotten you a washcloth.”

Sheriff looked over to the other, happy he couldn’t see his blush, and slowly sat down onto all fours.

S:”One moment. I’ll get something to wipe you down with. I’d be eager for a cleaning too if I had been dragged around by so many people and had to withstand the dusty wind outside.”

Sure enough Sanford went back into his bathroom and came out with a wet washcloth wich he proceeded to use on the Sheriff, carefully cleaning him wherever Sanford could reach.

Shortly thereafter Sanford layed down and turned out the lights, signing the Sheriffs first day with them drawing to an end.

Now it was a week later.

Sheriff had slowly begun to trust the others, finding that his worries of them killing him or torturing him once they found out who he was were unwarranted.

Quite the opposite really. They treated him rather well. Maybe because they thought he was a non-threat now, maybe because they could all kill him without so much as breaking a sweat or maybe just because they pitied him.

He honestly didn’t care.

He felt safe.

It had been ages since he had felt safe. Even when he was still his old self he hadn’t felt this safe in a long time.

The last time he had felt anywhere near this safe was when he had just started out as Sheriff.

When everything was still easy.

When he had only one man under him, his partner in crime-fighting, Adam.

Sheriffs mood dulled a little at the thought of his old partner.

It had been a while that he had thought about Adam. He had been his best friend and his confidant.

His loss had been the thing to make Sheriff snap and start cutting people off.

A hand was suddenly on his back, petting him carefully.

Looking up he saw Deimos looking at him, his face showing worry.

D:”You alright there Bunniff?”

Bunniff. That silly nickname Deimos had come up with about 3 days after he had been brought here.

Sheriff hadn’t liked it when he first heard it but it had grown on him. Just as much as Deimos and Sanford had grown on him, being the two that took the most care of him.

Sheriff nuzzled into the touch somewhat, trying to ease Deimos worries.

What he wouldn’t give to be able to talk.

D:”You trying to be cute to get an extra snack?”

Sheriff gave Deimos a side eye at that comment but couldn’t help himself turning towards the other to see if he did have a snack.

D:”Hehe. I gotcha lil buddy. Here ya go.” With that Deimos got out some yoghurt drops, that they had gotten from their trip to the pet store, and held one out to Sheriff.

Sheriff carefully took the drop with his teeth, having learned that those were rather sharp now, the hard way by biting his tounge, and started to nibble at it.

He truly did appreciate the snack, even if it wasn’t really the thing that he was looking for at the moment.

He was halfway done with the snack when 2BDamned stepped into the room with a clipboard.

Sheriff looked up and sighed.

Time for the daily testing.

The doc had started with those the day after Hank had brought him here, saying that, since Auditor was the one to revive Sheriff and they didn’t have a good gage on his powers, they couldn’t know what kind of anomalies could occur around and or with the Sheriff.

So far nothing had come of it.

Sheriff finished his snack quickly before he was lifted from the couch, where Deimos had placed him so they could watch some TV, and carried to 2Bs room.

Half an hour of tests later and the Doc was once again only staring at the results with a scowl.

A long sigh escaped the man before he walked over to the small cage he had placed Sheriff in to pick him up again.

2B:”. . . I still don’t get WHY Auditor would do this to you! . . . hopefully there’ll be no side eff-”

The Doc was interrupted by a loud sneeze coming from Sheriff. Sheriff didn’t even know where that had come from, he didn’t feel it coming on but oh well.

Opening his eyes after the sneeze he blinked a few times. He was still in 2Bs hold but something felt...off.

2B:”-cts…”

Doc was staring at him now.

Did he have something on his face? Reaching up he touched his face to see if something was hanging out of his nose.

Wait.

How did he do that? Normally when people held him like that he couldn’t use his arms.

Looking down now he saw...a hand?

A furr covered, paw-like hand for sure but still. A hand.

Looking back up again he met 2Bs eyes, seeing the surprise in them. His mask was hiding it but he was sure his mouth was standing open as well.

Sh:”What just-”

Sheriff heard himself beginn to say before stopping himself mid sentence.

He could talk.

HE COULD TALK!

Before he could revel in that fact a little longer 2B brought him close, holding him like a child now and rushed into the living room with him, to where the others were at the moment.

2B:”HANK!”

The others looked up at the Doc who proceeded to almost shove the half-bunny Sheriff into Hanks face.

2B:”I TOLD you he was a danger! LOOK! Who knows what’ll happen next?! We have to-”

The Doc was interrupted by Hank standing up so fast he threw down his chair, glaring at the man inside of his grasp.

Sheriff swallowed hard, his body beginning to shiver. He felt his still attached tail go between his legs and grabbed his ears in a nervous attempt to somewhat hide, using the brim of his hat as well.

Hank was towering over the other and Sheriff didn’t know when it would come but he was SURE that he would get hurt.

Silence.

Sheriff didn’t even know when he had shut his eyes but he had, waiting for the hurting to start.

After minutes of no harm coming his way he slowly opened one eye again before carefully looking up at the other.

Hank was looking...happy?

His eyes were fixated on Sheriff for sure but they held no malice or anger. A second later and Hank had taken him out of the Docs hold and was now holding him like he was the most precious thing in the world.

D:”Well… this is new...Hank be careful not to break him with that stare of yours.”

Deimos quipped, giving a snicker when Hank gave him an annoyed glance before returning to look Sheriff all over.

Sheriff felt himself begin to relax again. Hank wasn’t angry. He didn’t think Sheriff had planned anything evil or malicious.

That was a relief.

Well for about a minute it was.

That was until Sheriff realized that, holy shit, he was practically NAKED!

Sure he’d been naked all the time as bunny, but that was just the problem. He had been a BUNNY. Those normally didn’t need clothes. But now he was NOT a bunny anymore...at least not fully and that fact made him feel really exposed now.

Using his arms to kind of instinctively hide his chest and crotch, even though there was literally nothing visible there, he made a squeaking noise out of embarrassment.

That was when Sanford gave him a shirt.

S:”Here, you should probably put that on.”

Hank lowered him to the ground and grabbed the shirt for him before lifting it over his head and helping him into it.

It looked way too big on him but he didn’t care, he was just glad he didn’t have to feel naked anymore.

SH:”Thank you.”

Now everyone but the Doc and Sheriff froze.

D:”You can talk?” Sh:”Uuuuuhm~ apparently?” Sheriff shrunk a bit at the others reaction but the smile that followed gave him a little reassurance that they didn’t dislike it.

A slew of questions followed, none of wich he actually knew how to answer aside from the last one.

S:”So, what do you want to do now?”

Sanford was smiling but Sheriff knew the gravity of that question.

Before he could think about it much more, about where he’d go now and what to do or what they would do now to prevent him from doing something stupid, his stomach growled loudly, interrupting everyones thoughts.

Sh:”I guess eat something.”

The tension that had slowly been building in the room fell away at that.

They could think about this all later, for now they were just gonna roll with it.

And now it was time for dinner.

#another one #silly fic #madcom #madcom fanfic #madness combat #madcom sheriff #madcom shitpost #madcom hank #madcom sanford #madcom deimos #madcom 2bdamned

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adorethedistance · 3 years

Text

British. Handsome. Charming. - Harry Styles x Reader Retail!AU

Sorta requested.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive situations, I say titties like once

Words: 2108

Summary: When your coworker calls out and leaves you alone for a graveyard shift, you unintentionally enlist the help of a certain British, handsome, and charming retail employee from next door.

A/N: Hello this is my piece for @meetmeinfleetwood ‘s “to lovers” fic challenge! I put my ‘to lovers’ trope as Coworkers Harry and Y/n but I’m kind of riffing off of that trope because I wanted to do employees at different stores in the same section of the mall.

“So, Ziva just called out...” I hear my manager Kelly break the news from behind me. A groan threatens to escape my lungs but I fight the urge as best as possible to save face in front of customers. This is the third time Ziva’s called out of her graveyard shift in the past two weeks. Tonight, we were supposed to unpack the new shipment of holiday tees, gag gifts, and decorations. On a normal night, I can handle floor set by myself, but the added challenge of holiday items and displays is a different story.

“If I take another lunch right now, I can stay and help with the floor set.”

“No,” I wave her off, already dreading the exhaustion that is bound to set in, “Go home. You’ve already done your full eight, I can fly solo for tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go before I regret letting you!” Kelly smiles with the tip of her tongue peaking through her teeth. She thanks me for freeing her and I finish straightening the last of the yellow champion hoodies on the rack in front of me.

“The boxes are on the left side in the backroom.” Backroom… got it.

Working at Tilly’s was supposed to be my high school job. At the end of Junior year, I opted for a minimum wage position to earn some extra spending money. If I’d known I would be attending the most local university in this godforsaken town, I would’ve picked a better gig; one that pays more. Or at least one that doesn’t schedule me from 7:30PM to 3AM.

The store closes at ten but the other four ish hours are for rearranging the entire floor layout. I have to redistribute the table full of graphic tees strategically around the store to make room for the holiday items we just received. With someone else’s help I could expect to be finished by 12:30. Maybe 1. Ziva calling out wasn’t part of the plan however, so I don’t expect to be finished early at all. If anything, I might have to rush to finish before my shift ends.

Not to mention I have a prose analysis final draft due tomorrow by midnight. Ziva better have some damn good excuses when she gets back.

Readjusting the waistband of my favorite jeans against my body, I head to the dressing rooms to double check for any stragglers. Upon finding myself alone, I go lock the front doors and flick off the glowing “open” sign in the front window. Hopefully time will fly faster than it has since I got here. I should’ve asked Kelly to grab me a coffee or a coke to get me through the rest of the shift. Maybe I should do some coke to get me through the rest of the shift.

Okay. What did Kelly say?

Backroom... Was that all? I hesitantly prop the storeroom’s door with the small, tan, rubber wedge before trying to take in the overwhelming mess of the backroom. The room has painfully bright overhead LED lights illuminating my path; the brightness is mirrored off the polished concrete floors under my feet. Considering there’s no holiday bullshit directly in front of me, Kelly must have given me more directions than just ‘backroom’. Graphic tees, sunglasses, jewelry. Nothing.

In my most goddamn genius idea yet, I search the top of the self of the storeroom to see the holiday boxes sealed and intact. Lovely. I can graze the surface of the top shelf with my fingertips just enough to get them dusty, but not enough to pull down any boxes.

Fuck.

This is what we have a ladder for, but we lent it out to the Zara next door. I don’t know what time they close but intuition tells me it's soon. Figuring I have nothing to lose, I dash out of the back room and unlock the front door to round the corner into Zara. Right as I exit the store, I run into someone hard enough to lose my balance, but not hard enough to take the other person down, thank god.

“Woahhh, you alright there?” British.

I look up to the face of the person I collided with. Handsome.

“I’m so sorry, I need to get to Zara.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late for that.” The handsome stranger’s statement catches me off guard and the fog of my rushed mindset disappears. Charming.

“What?”

“Jus’ locked up, I’m afraid.” I look at the completely dark storefront, and then back at the stranger. His gleaming green eyes catch mine and, cliché-ly, I’m rendered breathless by the exquisite nature of his face. Employee.

“You work at Zara,” I state dumbly.

“That, I do. And you work…?” Dropping my eyes to my worn work shoes, I’m suddenly overwhelmingly shy about working at Tilly’s.

“Tilly’s, next door. We lent you guys our step ladder and I need it back.”

“Shit,” the man smiles softly, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I have the key to the store, but I don’t have the key to the supply closet where we kept it.”

“Dammit.” When I pull out my phone to check the time, I groan at the loss of another ten minutes. “By any chance do you guys conveniently have a step ladder that isn’t in an inaccessible closet?” The beautiful man laughs at my question and shakes his head no.

“We don’t, but I am pretty tall, maybe I could help?”

“You’re not that tall.”

“Taller than you.” My teasing is cut short by the man’s quip and I lead him into the store with conviction.

“Basically, I’m supposed to reconfigure the entire floor layout around the table for all the holiday merch, and the shipment came in but someone brilliantly placed them on the top shelf of the back room.”

“Which is why you need the step ladder from the closet that I can’t open. Gotcha.”

“If you could just get those three boxes from the top shelf right there that’d be wonderful.” After clocking the boxes in question, he nods wordlessly, and slips off his nice coat, no doubt a piece from the store next door. Underneath, he’s wearing a grey button up of which he begins rolling up the sleeves to. The action made me stop breathing for a second. His forearms are littered with tattoos of various drawings, one in particular catching my eye.

It’s a two dimensional mermaid figure with no seashell-bra, her skin transitioning into scales only after exposing her pubic bone. In the fluorescent lighting of the store, it’s clear as day that this is quite possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. What’s he doing working at an outlet mall?

Zoning back in, I see he’s already hard at work. With a box no doubt full of gag gifts on his shoulder, he speaks again.

“I’m Harry by the way.”

I return the gesture and he smiles when he hears my name.

“Pretty.”

Returning his attention to the second box, he reaches up to slide the box closer to the edge of the shelf. When he does so, the hem of his grey shirt rides up to reveal a tiny strip of his toned abdomen, where two mirrored stems of fern leaves are tattooed in strikingly black ink.

I blink quickly a few times to redirect my focus, and divert my attention to the floor where he’s set the first box. This leads me to notice the brown suede chelsea boots he’s wearing. Black coat, grey shirt, brown shoes. Interesting.

“Oh shit!” I hear him mutter in a hushed voice. Looking up to the top of the shelf, I see that the last box has already been opened. Harry is balancing it between both limbs, his shoulder, and his head, but any movement would cause the contents of the box to fall out.

I rush forward to help. Moving the flaps of the box back over the top, I reach across Harry’s body to move them. Then, to keep them shut I place one palm on top of the seam, and use the other hand to support the bottom of the box. It isn’t until I stop moving that I notice the position I’ve put us in. I’m reaching up as far as I can to secure the top of the box which has placed the entire front side of my body to the back of his. I’m painfully aware of how my hips are pressed against his ass, and he must be painfully aware of the way my titties are pressed against his upper back.

“I’m gonna move backwards so it’s off the shelf. Just hold the top in place until I have it right side up again, yea?” I nod dumbly in response before realizing he can’t see me.

“Yeah, got it.” And with that he begins to back up little by little, moving at a pace slow enough for me to consistently adjust. The box is almost intact, but I’ve run out of space from standing behind Harry, and I have to maneuver myself around him whilst keeping the box shut. I cringe before doing what I have to do, and shuffling around the side of Harry’s body, my frontside pressed against him the entire time.

Finally, it’s over and we can set the box down on top of the other two. Harry stands up straight again and dusts off his hands. He adjusts his jeans, pulling them back up his hips, and I have to keep myself from staring once more.

“Anythin’ else I can do for you?”

“I don’t think so? That’s pretty much all the heavy lifting I have to do tonight.” He nods understandingly and… dare I say disappointed? I’m probably just projecting.

“Are you alone tonight?”

“Yeah, my coworker called out, but it’s fine. My boss Kelly got most of the work done earlier when she unpacked a lot of the boxes and folded the shirts into piles, so…”

“I could help.”

“You don’t need to do that. You’re already off and I’m sure you’re exhausted and-”

“I want to.” I guess I wasn’t projecting.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. That way you can go home earlier.” His smile is soft and lopsided until we connect eyes, in which case it brightens to reveal his pearly teeth. I fall shy under his gaze and avert my eyes to the concrete floor below us. My cheeks are radiating at about 1000° and I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Thank you,” I say, more flustered than I would have liked. Why am I getting so nervous? He’s just a retail employee at Zara.

A gorgeous employee at Zara.

“I don’t mind staying back... Spending more time with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Since I already know what you do for a living, what are your hobbies?” He ignores my question.

“I don’t have much time for hobbies. I’m only part-time while I’m in uni.”

“No way, what are you studying?”

I proceed to tell Harry all about my major and my career aspirations post-graduation and post-retail. I enjoy telling people about my dreams and yet, Harry’s the first person I’ve met in a long time that’s shown any interest in me and my dreams. The way he nods attentively despite having to fold misconstrued t-shirts and holiday sweaters, ignites a fire in my stomach that warms my heart. They way he asks hyper specific, prompting questions to learn more about my plans contrasts the fire inside me by sending chills down my spine.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are your dreams?” Harry stops folding for a moment and exhales a conflicted sigh.

“I’m not too sure at the moment. I’m content at Zara for the moment, and I haven’t decided what’s next. I do write music though.”

“You do?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“What kind of music?” He stops to think again, a bit less conflicted than before.

“It’s like, indie-folk-pop-rock ish.”

“Indie-folk-pop-rock ish?” I can’t contain the laughter spilling from my lips over the mountain of folded t-shirts.

“Yeah. A good bit of variety, really.”

“Well, it’s nice you have something to be passionate about.”

“Judging by how you talked about your dreams for an hour, I wouldn’t say I’m as passionate as you are about your studies.”

“Passion isn’t a competition. It’s what moves you forward as an individual.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh at me.

“Okay, Gandhi.”

“Hush! I’m allowed to be philosophical.” His laugh draws into a closed-mouth smile, from humor to an adoration of sorts.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I unintentionally mirror his affectionate smile.

“Promise?”

***

A/N: This was absolutely one of those fics that, the longer I stared at it, the more I hated it and cut it down so here’s what’s remaining before I destroyed the whole thing. It’s def a puff piece and not an in depth fic but nuance is not my friend right now so, sorry about it :(

Taglist: @curlybrownhairedboys @meetmeinfleetwood

#Harry #Harry Styles #Harry Styles fanfiction #Harry Styles fanfic #Harry Styles fic #Harry Styles writing #Harry Styles imagine #Harry Styles oneshot #Harry Styles one shot #Harry Styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #Harry Styles fluff #Harry Styles angst #Harry Styles smut

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